


A Court of War and Starlight

by sv_you_know_who_I_am



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 76
Words: 222,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv_you_know_who_I_am/pseuds/sv_you_know_who_I_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is just beginning. Disguised in the Spring Court, Feyre gains access to the King of Hybern's plans for Calanmai while Rhys hatches a plot to get her out before it's too late. Old allies are restored, new enemies are made, and Feyre and Rhys must travel across Prythian and beyond to unlock ancient secrets of the fae and prevent the King of Hybern from conquering every fae and mortal realm. </p><p>Most of the fic is 'T' but with some sexy-times a la ACOMAF, which are labelled 'NSFW' at the head of the chapter. </p><p>THIS FIC IS COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written immediately after the release of ACOMAF. The entire 76 chapters and all 13 related one-shots were written over a period of 76 days, and were published with little editing. As a result, there are some small plot inconsistencies and minor grammar errors. In the subsequent year, I haven't had the time to return to it and edit it, but I also think maintaining the integrity of this effort is important. Thank you for reading (even after the publication of ACOWAR, wow!), and I hope these small issues don't affect your enjoyment too negatively. Thanks so much to all past and future readers. <3
> 
> -Sarah Viehmann

It was quiet.

Laced beneath the quiet was death. Darkness. Wrath.

I sat in the middle of the gallery, the one place I could come where Tamlin would not enter unless I invited him--perhaps the best way he could pretend that this was still my home. I sat cross-legged on the table, a few pots of paint surrounding me, and closed my eyes.

 _Hello_. I stroked a finger down the bond that was like my second spine, the bond that led straight to my mate. I could reach down it and feel him there, listening for me. Waiting. Living.

Raging.

We were too far apart for words, and I knew that. Still, I had begun assigning words to the vibrations in our bond, the stirrings within me that told me that Rhys was out there, that my mate was always thinking of me, and would come for me the moment the time was right.

But I was the one who would tell him when that was.

I felt the murmur down our bond in response to mine. _Feyre, darling._

_I love you._

_I know._

Around me, tendrils of darkness extended from me like phantom limbs, brushing the canvases on the walls, rattling cans of paint. There was a _clink_ as a paintbrush rolled off the table onto the ground. My arms were spread at my sides, the darkness swirling in tendrils around them. In particular, they caressed the tattoo on my right arm, the tattoo that identified me as their mistress, their High Lady.

Tamlin thought I was painting. He never asked to see evidence, and he never asked to watch me work. So it was the perfect time to train.

In the week since I had been back at the Spring Court, I had begun to tap into the power that being the High Lady of the Night Court gave me. I had once asked Rhys if his gift to me after Amarantha would be stronger than the magic of the other High Lords. It might not have been true then, but it was now. Flames of darkness. Shields of darkness. Wolves of darkness.

And most of all, glorious Illyrian wings stretched out behind me, their elegant tips scraping the ground behind me.

I was the High Lady of Night, the High Lady of Darkness. I was more powerful than anyone in this damned manor, and one day they would all know it.

Until then, I would hone it.

_That’s my queen._

I smiled at the ripple in the bond, the pride and wonder that came with it. This--this would help me survive. Rhys and I would have an eternity together. What were mere weeks in Tamlin’s manor in comparison?

There was a knock at the door.

The shadows vanished. So did my tattoo. In the moment after I said “Come in,” I winnowed off the table to a half-empty canvas, paint-covered brush in hand.

As if I hadn’t been doing anything else at all.

Tamlin slipped in and paused just over the threshold.

He sniffed.

I watched him, doe-eyed, as he scented my power, as the confusion flickered in his emerald eyes. Then he dismissed it and took a step further.

Dismissed it, like a fool, because the Feyre he had locked up in this manor was not capable of the sort of power he had scented. The Feyre standing in front him, her mask of innocence as firmly in place as the mask of death Rhysand wore in the Court of Nightmares, however . . . this Feyre could rip this manor apart brick by brick if she chose.

Fortunately for him, I was not yet in the mood.

He stepped closer and I cocked my head just slightly as though observing my canvas, though it was only to obscure the way my nose twitched at the wrongness of his scent. It was an assault to my senses, but he was blind to it.

“It looks beautiful,” he murmured, looking at the still life I had painted--a vase of flowers like those that grew in abundance outside the manor. It was a hollow compliment, one meant only to encourage. He knew as well as I did that there was no life in this painting. I supposed he was just happy I was painting at all, when the wraith I had been could not even look at red paint.

The flowers in the vase were red. When I looked at them I saw the blood staining the cobblestones of the Rainbow of Velaris, and it reminded me what I was fighting for. My people. Velaris. Rhys. The color no longer filled me with drowning anguish, but with icy rage and determination. I would get back to them one day . . . one day soon.

It took less strength than before not to cringe away as Tamlin’s fingers scooped some of my paint-flecked hair off my shoulder. It was one of the very few ways he had tried to touch me me since we had arrived back. Holding my hand or my arm were some other ways, but he had only tried to kiss me once. He had been the one to pull away.

I had realized with wry delight that I still smelled of Rhys--he was in all my pores, my hair, under my skin. Where he belonged. Tamlin was too stubborn to recognize it as the mate bond, to understand that it wasn’t going away. So he was waiting. I wasn’t sure how long he would wait for Rhys’s scent to fade before he realized the truth, but for now it was saving me from the most difficult part of my charade.

His hand fell down and gently pulled the paintbrush from my fingers, and I offered no resistance. “I made a promise,” he said. “No more secrets.”

I gave him a false, grateful smile. No more secrets, indeed. I laced my fingers through his, and when he snapped his fingers my paint-covered clothes disappeared, replaced with insubstantial Spring Court chiffon. He led me from the gallery, and as we walked he was completely unaware of how I flitted around his mental shields, getting to know them, learning their weaknesses. I had yet to attempt a full breach, but I knew I would need to at some point. Unlike with Tarquin, or with Lucien, I felt absolutely no guilt at skirting around Tamlin’s mind. He had betrayed me, and so I would betray him. I might not crush his mind . . . but it would be sorely tempting.

He led me to his study--the scars from his outburst months ago cleared away from the walls, though not from my mind. There, waiting near the window, was Ianthe.

No amount of acting could hold back the snarl that ripped from my lips at the sight of her.

Tamlin looked at me in shock, and I thought the skin around Ianthe’s eyes went a touch paler, but her expression remained neutral. Then her face crumpled with sympathy, the sunlight from the window glinting in her golden hair, and she extended her arms out to me. “Feyre,” she said, her voice almost a sigh. “You’re home at last.”

“I know what you did, Ianthe.” _Sweet venom_ , I instructed myself. _Leash the monster . . . for now._

Ianthe’s pink lips parted and her hands fell to her sides. “Oh, Feyre. If you had been here, I would have told you. It hurt me so badly to see you alone, without your family. I wanted to bring your sisters here for you.”

The image of Nesta’s threatening finger rising above the lip of the Cauldron flashed through my mind, and my hatred for Ianthe burned so hot that I could feel the embers at my fingertips. She was still lying to me. Worse, I knew that the Feyre she had seduced months ago would have believed her.

“I didn’t know what the King was going to do to them,” she said.

 _Liar_. I schooled my face into cold disdain and said, “It seems like you ought to know your allies better.” I did not look at Tamlin, but his hand twitched in mine. He knew the words were for him just as much as they were for Ianthe.

“So ought you,” she said, and I bristled. “Oh, Feyre, I don’t blame you. The High Lord of Night is a deceiver. He won your trust and then abused it. Abused _you_. But now you’re home, and we can make things right.”

 _Lies lies lies lies lies_. The word rang through my bones as I heard Ianthe’s honeyed voice tell exactly the truth about what had happened to me, but turn it around on my family as though they were the perpetrators. She was the deceiver.

“Why is she still here, Tamlin?” I asked point-blank. Ianthe’s eyes widened a fraction. “She lied to you. She was plotting to overthrow the High Lords. You heard it from the King of Hybern himself.” Rhysand would have misted her by now.

Tamlin shifted, his eyes locked on Ianthe. “Ianthe has made mistakes. We’ve spoken a great deal since Hybern, and she has admitted that she let the king’s promises get to her head. She has seen her errors.”

“I would call treason a little bit more than an error,” I purred. Cauldron, I sounded like Rhysand. I took a breath and reminded myself that I was the bride of Spring here, not the queen of Night.

“Ianthe is the reason you’re home,” Tamlin said firmly. Then he softened and turned to face me. The emotion in his eyes filled my gut with nausea. “We all made sacrifices, Feyre. What happened with your sisters . . . that wasn’t supposed to happen. But we’ll get them back, I promise.”

 _No, you won’t_. Because I knew where they were--likely the cabin in the Illyrian mountains, or maybe the House of Wind. I didn’t think Rhys would quite trust Nesta with the townhome yet for fear that she would tear it to shreds. It was likely she would too, until Cassian trained her.

A stone formed in my stomach. Cassian. His wings. I hoped they’d found a healer, hoped they had repaired them, or else . . . I couldn’t imagine Cassian bound to the land, not when the wind sang in his very bones.

Tamlin. Tamlin had let that happen to him. It was a struggle to keep looking at him. “What now then?” I said. “It has been a quiet week. Just what is going on out there? When does your bargain begin?”

Tamlin’s jaw tightened. “After Calanmai. Once the magic is replenished, the king will move his forces here.”

A straightforward answer. I almost admitted that I was surprised. But after Calanmai . . . that was only a week away. A real tremble ran over my skin, and I didn’t mind letting them see it.

“They’ll really destroy the wall?” I murmured, sounding meek and terrified. “He really means to start a war?”

I knew the answers to these questions better than anyone, but I wanted to hear what Tamlin would say. Would he really continue to deny it after all we had seen and heard?

“He means to take down the wall,” Tamlin said, “but I do not think there will be a war.”

I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to scream at him that I had seen the armies raining bloodshed on Velaris, the City of Starlight.

“The king wants to unify our two lands,” Ianthe said. “Why do you think he allied himself with the mortal queens? He does not seek destruction. He seeks unity.”

 _Unity under his heel_ , I wanted to hiss. But instead I placed a hand on my chest and shook my head. “I’m not . . . I’m not feeling well,” I said. “I need some fresh air.”

“A ride, perhaps?” Ianthe said, perking up. “Your horse has missed you.”

I couldn’t even remember my horse’s name.

“I’d be happy to escort you,” Ianthe said.

“Allow me the pleasure.”

I whipped around to see Lucien gliding smoothly into the room. His face was as cool as the fox mask he had worn for fifty years, but his metal eye whirred as he regarded each one of us. He held my eye for a moment longer than the rest, and I let him. I wanted him to think I had nothing to hide, though he, out of all of them, had been the most suspicious after my return.

“Lucien,” Tamlin said, nodding at his emissary. Lucien smiled blandly at the High Lord and stepped forward to offer me his arm. I was actually amazed that Tamlin stepped back and allowed me to loop my arm through Lucien’s. Their eyes met and I knew there was a silent order there. _Only take her on the paths. Keep her safe. Don’t let her get far._

And in that glance I knew that Tamlin would be following us. Far enough back that he thought I wouldn’t notice, but near enough that he would hear whatever it was Lucien wanted to say to me.

I could play that game. I wondered if Lucien knew it was a game, if he had seen his master’s promise to lurk. I hardly cared.

Lucien and I did not say anything to each other while we walked to the stables arm in arm. I mounted my horse in silence, as did Lucien, and soon we were leaving the manor behind to ride the main paths of the tame wood.

“It is good to have you back, Feyre,” Lucien said, his metal eye scanning me.

“It is good to be back,” I lied. “I missed it here. Missed the colors. The warmth. The . . . the goodness.”

Lucien almost flinched at my cloaked accusation. He had always been smarter than Tamlin. He could read beneath my words. That made this all the more fun.

“You were the best thing about this place,” Lucien said. A message for me, too. _Were_. I could feel the unspoken questions radiating from him. I could pluck them from his mind if I wanted, but I had no interest in invading Lucien’s mind. Not since the time I had accidentally done so, before . . . before Rhys. There had been such sorrow in Lucien’s mind. I thought it would only be worse now, in the absence of his mate.

Elain.

My sister. Lucien’s mate was my sister. There had been a time when I had imaged them meeting, Lucien’s clever goodness twining with Elain’s sweet endurance. Still, I had never really thought . . .

I wished it wasn’t true. Lucien was not worthy of her, not now. I hated myself for wanting to keep them apart, especially because I knew exactly how it felt, but . . .

“Could you tell me about her?” he rasped.

My head snapped to look at him. This was not where I had thought this conversation was going. “What?”

“Just . . . something. Do you think she’s safe? Or, perhaps you could tell me nothing important at all. What is her favorite flower? Would she like the Spring Court? Does she like . . .?” He trailed off, spreading his fingers across his face to hide his shame and agony.

And, Cauldron damn me, I felt for him. I had not wanted to have any sympathy for him at all, not after he had tried to steal me in the Illyrian woods, but this man, my once-friend, so vulnerable, so hurt . . .

“Peonies,” I said. “Peonies were always her favorite.”

Lucien sucked in a breath and bit his bottom lip, casting his gaze up to the leafy canopy above us. He rolled his shoulders, and then all of a sudden, the cool, calm Lucien was back.

 _No, come back._ I wanted to say. _Fight. Rage. Break free. Earn her._

I was sorely tempted to tell him that she was safe, but that would betray far too much.

“You were really his mate?” Lucien asked me so quietly that I didn’t think even Tamlin would be able to hear him from whatever hiding place he had made for himself.

I cringed. “I don’t know. I don’t . . . his control was so complete, I think maybe he just made me think we were mated . . .” I had rehearsed this performance many times in my hours alone in the gallery.

“You still smell like him.” Not quietly. This was for Tamlin.

I shuddered. “I know. It’s terrible . . . it’s like he’s haunting me. It doesn’t matter how hard I scrub, how hard I wish it gone . . .” I ran my hand through my hair. “I hope it will go away soon.”

Lucien didn’t say anything. He suddenly grabbed the reins of his horse and brought it near mine, close enough so that I didn’t have time to react when he grabbed me and winnowed us away.

I gasped when we landed in an empty, wilder clearing far from the main path. I looked at him, my mouth open slightly. He looked at me with steel in his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. And I understood.

This was not part of the plan.

“Show me,” he said, jutting his chin toward me.

“What?” I asked.

“Show me who you are.”

He was looking for who I had been in the Illyrian forests, with the fighting leathers and the wings and the darkness leaking from my pores.

“Lucien, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I protested, straightening and smoothing my skirts.

He snarled. “Don’t lie to me!” I stepped back in alarm, though he hadn’t truly frightened me. “You can lie to everyone else in this damn court, Feyre, but please, don’t lie to me.”

“Why would I lie to you?” I demanded. _Because you betrayed me. Because you chose him. Because you refuse to fight, and I can’t trust you._

“I saw you,” he snapped, prowling closer to me. “I saw you in the forest, and again in Hybern. I saw your power, I saw the way you . . . the way you looked at him. Rhysand is powerful, Feyre, but I don’t think even he could conjure what I saw in your eyes.”

“Rhysand is a liar,” I spat, even as I gripped the bond in my core for dear life, sending waves of apologies down it to my mate. It was a lie that was necessary, agreed upon, one that he would even encourage, but it did not make it any easier to speak such vile things about my mate. “I barely remember those months. That time in the woods, when I saw you, Lucien . . .” My expression softened and he paused. “That is one of the clearest memories I have. I would have gone with you, before Rhysand appeared, before he . . . claimed my mind again.” I prayed Lucien would agree with me, would remember that day the way I was spinning it.

“You winnowed,” he said blankly. “ _Away_ from me.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a look. “You might be forgetting the ravine only two steps behind me? I winnowed so that you wouldn’t accidentally knock me in!” I held back my own pleased grin. Even I had impressed myself with that one. Instead, my usual irritated frown adorned my face, and Lucien . . . Lucien backed down.

“I don’t even know what’s true anymore,” he sighed, shaking his head. The woods were darker here, but the copper of his hair still shimmered. “Come on, Feyre. Let’s go back. Tam is going to be pissed with me anyway, so we might as well.”

He offered his hand to me, and I kept my eyes locked on his as we winnowed back to the manor.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO - Rhysand

In the week since Hybern, the nightmares had returned.

In the week since Feyre had left.

No, not left. Chosen. She hadn’t truly left me, not for a moment. I could always feel her there at the other end of the bond, breathing, living . . . training.

Interesting.

Every time I gave myself a moment to think about it, I laughed at the foolishness of Tamlin and the Spring Court, the willingness with which they had let the viper into their den.

And yet even those flashes of pride, wonder, disbelief . . . even those weren’t enough to spare me from torment in the night.

Sometimes it wasn’t nightmares, not exactly. I would be treading that tenuous line between sleep and waking, and jolt awake to find that my mate was not beside me. And nothing-- _nothing_ \--could ease the panic that ripped through my core in those wild, blind moments when I flung myself on the bond, reminding myself that she was alive, she was alive, she was alive. But it would take hours, sometimes, to lull myself back to sleep without her body pressed against mine, without her scent in my nose. Whatever sleep I did manage to find was fitful, as new nightmares plagued me in her absence.

These dreams rarely featured Amarantha. That was a scar that would never truly be forgotten, but that had been healed over by Feyre, by the love of my mate. Whenever she did try to creep into my dreams and I would feel her blood-red lips on my neck, I would whirl to find Feyre standing in her place, her mouth quirked up in that way of hers that made me want to do anything she asked without question. I considered it a great accomplishment that Feyre did not understand just how much power she had over me . . . though I imagined she suspected.

A former human had the most powerful High Lord in history wrapped around her finger.

My High Lady.

No, the dreams that haunted me now came from Hybern, and they usually involved watching Cassian’s wings be ripped to shreds over and over, and every time I would be farther away, unable to stop it.

He was still recovering. It would be weeks before he would be even able to lift off the ground, let alone fly properly.

If it wasn’t Cassian, it was Azriel, his blood coating the ground before crawling up my calves, creeping over my skin until it covered every inch of me and forced its way into my mouth, drowning me as my friend died, head bowed before the King of Hybern. And then, no matter who died, Mor would look at me with utter anguish, disgust, and loathing in her eyes.

“This is your fault,” she would say.

Then I would back away from her until I was falling over a precipice, my own wings shredded and useless, as the maw of the Cauldron waited below to send me to oblivion.

It was the seventh night after Feyre had left that the dream ended differently.

I backed away from the hatred in Mor’s face, expecting the precipice, but I bumped into something else. I whirled, and there, there . . .

Feyre.

She looked just as surprised to see me. “Rhysand,” she breathed.

“Rhysand?” I asked, forcing the teasing out when every part of me felt like it was going to shatter. “I don’t see you for a week and you call me Rhysand?”

She whimpered and flung herself into my arms. “It’s a dream, it’s a dream . . .” she sobbed.

I wrapped my arms around her, realizing that Azriel’s blood no longer coated me. I gathered her brassy hair in one hand and ran my fingers through it until I reached the back of her head, holding her to my chest. Her scent wafted over me, and I felt _right_ for the first time since Hybern. Yes, there were tinges of Spring Court on her, but it was her . . . no, _our_ scent. “Feyre,” I sighed before pressing my lips to the crown of her head.

“Are you really here?” she asked, looking up at me, and I resisted the urge to kiss those beautiful eyes.

“I’m not even sure I know where here is,” I said, looking around. It was rather like being in a very bright, empty room, but I could smell the sea. I might even have seen tinges of sunset or dawn in the distance. A gentle breeze embraced us, sending a strand of Feyre’s hair across her face, which I tucked behind her ear again. “How did you get here?” I asked.

“A nightmare,” she breathed. “I was having a nightmare. My sisters--going into that Cauldron, Cassian, Azriel . . . everything. Except in this dream I don’t make it out, and my sisters hold me while Jurian kills you and . . .” she trailed off and swallowed. “Then Nesta kills me.”

I stroked her cheek with my thumb. “The same every night?”

“More or less,” she said. “Except tonight. When Nesta came up behind me and I turned, it was you instead. You.” She reached up and cradled my face in her hand. I leaned into the touch. So real.

“I was having a nightmare, too,” I said, and with some difficulty I explained it to her. Her blue-grey eyes burned with cold fire, and I could see in her a desire to wipe away every scar I bore, just as I wanted to shield her from the horrors that plagued her sleep. “Saving me from my nightmares again,” I said to her. My eyes raked up and down her glorious body. “I’m sorry I’m not nude this time.”

She flashed a wicked grin and said, “If this really is a dream, maybe we can fix that.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and captured my lips with her perfect mouth, drawing me into her, arching back as I leaned down. My hands pressed against the small of her back, but I could not resist sliding them lower, cradling her behind and pulling her flush against me with a sharp tug. She gasped into my mouth and I broke away to trail kisses up her jaw, down her neck, until she growled and dragged my lips back to hers.

The sound she made rippled through me and hardened me, and she smiled into our kiss when she felt it. She bit my bottom lip and I hooked my hands under her top, pulling it over her head to reveal the beautiful curves of her breasts, the smooth creaminess of her skin. Desire tore through me like wildfire and I couldn’t decide where I wanted to put my hands most.

I swept one arm behind her knees and began to lower her to the ground, kissing her collarbone as I prepared to lay her across the floor and have her every way I had thought about having her for the past week.

But when she should have spread across the floor, she kept going, and her eyes went wide as we were suddenly plummeting through open air.

Instinct had my wings snapping out immediately, though I winced against the sudden resistance they created. My arms were a nest around Feyre as we circled through the air on the inexplicable air current. The sky turned to rainbow around us, smearing from red to pink to yellow, with even a band of green visible before the indigo of the night claimed the roof of the world. Below us I saw a thin strip of white--a bridge. I set us down upon it, looking in wonder at the radiance around us both.

Feyre shivered--her top had vanished. Not that I minded. Still, I held her close to my body and shielded us from the breeze with my wings.

“What is this place?” she murmured, lacing her fingers in mine.

I looked from end of the bridge to the other. On one side, beyond me, a curtain shimmered. The bridge disappeared through it. As the curtain rippled in the breeze, I thought I could see my own bedchambers beyond it. Over Feyre’s shoulder, a similar curtain shifted, this one releasing the scent of spring with every shudder.

Understanding poured over me like warm honey. “It’s our bond, Feyre,” I said. “This bridge . . . it’s our mating bond.” I released her and knelt down to run my finger along the cool substance of the bridge.

Feyre went ramrod straight, staring at me with an open mouth. “I felt that,” she breathed. She fell down on her knees beside me and ran her fingers along the bridge the same way I had. The ripple pulsed through me so profoundly that I gasped. Then I smiled.

“It doesn’t matter where in the world you are,” I said, drawing her to my side again. “We’ll always be connected. This bond cannot be broken.” I laid my hand flat on the bridge and she laid her hand over mine. The walls of adamant I had constructed around my mind were paper compared to the strength of this bridge, this connection.

“I don’t want to go back,” she sighed, her breath caressing my shoulder.

“Neither do I.” My finger hooked under her chin and lifted her face to look at me. “Are you all right?” I figured that this was my only chance to ask. I did not know if I would find her in my dreams again, though I knew I would hope for it every night.

She nodded. “They suspect nothing. Well, Lucien does, but . . .”

I growled. I wasn’t afraid of Lucien, and neither was she.

“Cassian?” she whispered. “Azriel?”

“Healing,” I replied. “Slowly, but surely.”

“My sisters?”

My mouth twitched. How to explain all of that to her, here? “Surviving. Adjusting. They’re worried about you.”

“You can tell them I’m all right.”

“They won’t believe me.”

“Maybe they will. Nesta trusts you, I think.”

“A hard-won victory,” I murmured, and she laughed a little. Oh, how I missed that laugh. I scooped her hair back and kissed her, slow and deep.

“I think the dream is ending,” she said after a long moment. “I feel . . . less here.” She held up her hand, but I knew what she meant. I could feel the tether holding me here slipping, as though wakefulness were dragging me back through that curtain on the other side of the bridge.

“Feyre, I love you,” I said, knowing it was not near enough to express the passion that raged in my blood at the sight of her. “I’ll come for you soon.”

“I know,” she murmured. “I love you, Rhys.” My stomach clenched at the sound of those words on her lips. “I miss you.” A wicked glint. “But don’t let it get to your head.”

I barked a laugh, and in the next moment, though neither of us had moved, there was a great space between us on the bond. I gritted my teeth. I wanted her back. But I knew fighting this was impossible.

There were other things I could fight, and I had to be awake to do it.

But she would always be what I was fighting for.

\--

I was not entirely pleased that my townhome had become a sick house.

Especially when Cassian was such a whiner.

I’d known this, of course. This was not the first time that I had seen him injured, though this was the first time his wings had been so badly tattered. He whined for far less, which was a stark contrast to the brutish warrior he became in the training ring or on the battlefield.

No, now he was laid prostrate on a specially-made couch, his wings spread out on either side of him as the healer had ordered, stretched out to allow the membrane to stitch back together properly. Nuala and Cerridwen tended him with silent, limitless patience, and I secretly increased their wages for having to deal with the six-hundred-year-old infant.

Mor had gone from fussing over him incessantly the first three days to wanting to punch his teeth in, but I had convinced her that while it might make him shut up temporarily, it would not speed up the healing process and she would just have to put up with him longer.

Azriel’s healing had come along far better. He still wore bandages across his chest, but he had begun walking about two days ago, and though he was too week to fly, he was already starting to assemble his spy network to check on the King of Hybern’s progress. We had slowed him down by taking the Book with us, but likely not by much. Amren now held it in her possession--she was the only one of us who could manage its madness or be in the same room with it for any length of time.

I had asked her why it had not worked for Feyre when she had tried to read the spell, but Amren had no answer. This seemed to irritate her even more than it irritated me--and that, I thought, was saying something.

I had known the whole thing was a gamble. I had complete faith in Feyre, and I knew that what had happened in there had not been her fault. She was New, and the Book was of a magic far older than any of us. It had been a lot to ask, and I berated myself often for the desperation that had led me to put her in that position.

Sometimes my nightmares were in my waking thoughts, as well.

I just wanted to hold her hand.

Well, there were plenty of _other_ things I wanted to do with her, but even just having her near would be enough. That dream had been a gift from the Mother, and it had assured me that she really was all right, that I wasn’t imagining the little ripples she sent down our bond every so often. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to the others--wasn’t sure I could, or even wanted to. She was my mate, and our bond was something for us to understand. No one else.

Still, it was difficult to sit among my Inner Circle that evening and have nothing to report save for the fact that I knew Feyre was still alive. I knew she would find a way to communicate whatever she learned, but I knew she was smart enough not to do so until they had stopped monitoring her so closely. I did not know when that would be, but I trusted her to find a way to me when the time was right.

We already knew that our best chance at getting her out again was Calanmai, unless she was immersed in her disguise and told us not to try. During Calanmai, the borders would be weakened--even Tamlin’s borders. It was the only way the magic could fill the land the way it needed to for the process to be complete.

Mor had laid out an entire plan for getting Feyre out that night, and it involved sneaking across the border between the Autumn Court and the Spring Court. Our relationship with the Summer Court was still far too messy to dare setting foot there, and though the Autumn Court was not much better, it had been Mor’s idea to prowl through her old enemy’s territory to get Feyre back.

The dedication of a Third to her High Lady. I marveled at how Mor would do anything for loyalty, even breach the borders upon which she had been dumped as a girl.

“If I can get away with knocking a few buildings down on my way through, that would be a bonus,” she said, her eyes as hard a gemstones. Amren immediately voiced her fondness for that plan.

“Might we save the demolition for when we get our High Lady back?” Azriel asked, his voice weary.

“Fine,” Amren huffed, perching her feet on the coffee table not far from Cassian’s face. He glared at her, but she pretended not to notice.

“Rhys?” Mor asked, cocking her head to examine my distant features.

“It will be Calanmai,” was all I said. And the room went silent as they all contemplated and understood what that meant. I was a High Lord. It was my duty to participate. I hadn’t last year--I’d be damned if I spent my one night free of Amarantha to fuck another woman. And Feyre . . . that had been the first time I had met her. Suspected who she was.

Now, a year later, after all we’d been through . . . she was my mate, and she was trapped in someone else’s court on Calanmai. And not just anyone else . . . a male who thought she belonged to him.

My hackles raised and my upper lip peeled back from my teeth at the very thought. I knew Feyre would castrate him with her delightful shadow claws if he so much as laid a finger on her, but she was also a High Lady. And I had to admit that I didn’t know how the magic of Calanmai would affect her . . . affect me, now that we were mated.

I hated not knowing.

I had to be there.

“I like Mor’s plan,” I finally said, “but it lacks finesse.” She stuck her tongue out at me.

“What do you suggest?” Azriel asked, his shadows floating about him.

I turned to Mor again, my face serious. “How are Feyre’s sisters doing?”

Mor’s grin was positively wicked.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

When I woke up, Tamlin was staring at me.

My body went tense and I pulled the sheets up over myself before realizing that this was not the appropriate reaction, and I allowed myself to relax.

Tamlin sat in a chair, elbows resting on his powerful thighs. A couple locks of blond hair hung around the sides of his face. His emerald eyes were glinting, something hard and unnameable in them as he watched me, a frown on his face.

“Tamlin?” I asked. “You’re still here.” He was usually gone by this hour, either on a patrol or some political business that I pretended I had no interest in.

“You said his name in your sleep,” he said without preamble. His eyes burned into mine, and though I wanted to hold his gaze, that would raise his suspicions.

I pressed my hand to my mouth. “I did?” I gasped, my eyes widening in horror. I trembled. “He was there,” I confessed. “I had . . . nightmares. About Hybern.”

“I know,” Tamlin said, and I realized that this was the first time he had ever acknowledged my night terrors. Only his jealousy could push him to care. “You were screaming.”

And I couldn’t help myself. “You noticed,” I remarked, the words darting from my lips before I could consider their wisdom.

Tamlin stiffened and sat up, and the memory of the shattered study flashed through my mind. “I’ve said I was sorry,” he said. “I was going through a lot, too.”

“I know,” I sighed, giving him a beatific smile. Let him think he was forgiven. My smile faded as I murmured, “I dreamed he was killing me. That rather than let me come home, he would kill me and tear me to pieces.”

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, impatience edging his tone. “I’m not an idiot. You said his name like you were happy. After the screaming. Like you wanted to see him.”

The corner of my mouth twitched with the desire to be done with this pronoun game and just say his name. Rhys.

My expression hardened. “Do you have any idea how deep his claws were in me?” I snapped. “I could barely remember who I was, let alone how I really felt about him. I think . . . I think some of that magic is still in me when I sleep. I can’t . . . I can’t escape it.”

At least some part of that touched Tamlin, because he rose from his chair and came to sit beside me on the bed, gathering me into his arms. “He’s a monster. I swear, Feyre, I will make him pay for what he did to you.”

The only thing that kept me from pulling away and spitting fire in Tamlin’s face was imagining Rhys holding me, Rhys promising those things. Because Tamlin was the monster. He was just so caught up in his own sense of nobility and entitlement that he couldn’t see it.

I wanted to say that at least he wasn’t a monster like Hybern or Amarantha. But then I thought about Rhys’s mother and sister, and I couldn’t convince myself even of that.

“Do you watch me sleep every night?” I asked as he stroked my hair.

He was quiet for a moment. “No,” he finally said. “But . . . I want to. I wish you would let me in, Feyre.”

_Not a chance in hell._

“I know,” I said. “I’m just . . . not ready. Soon, but . . .”

“I understand,” he said, and he kissed my forehead.

I shifted to look him in the eyes. “It would help,” I said, “if I knew what to expect. What will life be like here once Hybern moves in? He said . . . he said I would have to work for him. What will he want me to do?”

I already knew the answer. Unspeakable things. Horrible things. He coveted my power, and the sooner he could get his hands on it, the better.

Which was why I had to escape before he could manage it.

“Hybern’s forces will not come anywhere near this manor,” Tamlin promised. “He doesn’t need it, and so there is no reason for him to come here. As for you . . .” He gripped my hand tightly in his. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t harm you, Feyre. I promise.”

“You would really trust him to keep that promise after what we saw him do?” I asked, aghast. “And to be honest, I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried what he’ll make me do to other people.” The shudder that ran down my body was not an act. “Tam, you remember Amarantha. You remember what she made me do to those fairies. To you. Do you really think that Hybern will be any different? Any better?”

I saw Tam’s claws threatening to burst from his hands at the sound of Amarantha’s name, but he kept them contained. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“What exactly are you getting out of all of this, Tamlin?” I asked. “Why ally yourself with him?” I reminded myself that his family had been Hybern’s allies in the War, but Tamlin had always said that he did not want to be like his family, that he hated the actions his father had taken during the War. It seemed as though he was just as willing to take those actions as the previous High Lord. Given what Rhys had told me, this didn’t surprise me after all.

“Feyre, I got _you_ ,” he said, pulling me even tighter to him. “Hybern was the only way to free you from that bastard’s bargain, and now you’re home. I’ve gotten what I wanted.”

“I’m really worth the death of thousands . . . millions?” I asked, pulling away from him. “That’s what is going to happen, Tamlin. I’m not sure why you don’t see it, but Hybern is going to crush the humans, turn it back to the days of slavery and cruelty. And you’re opening your doors to it, for what? Just to have me here?”

 _Killing wouldn’t win me_ , I’d told Rhys. Day by day, the stark differences between my mate and the male that now sat beside me became clearer and clearer. Tamlin was so obsessed with me that he didn’t care about the thousands who would die. Rhys--Rhys had said he would tear apart the world to get me back, but he wouldn’t sacrifice innocents to do it. I knew that in my bones.

“Feyre, you’re everything to me,” he said. “Damn the rest of the world. It’s always been us against the universe--maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be.”

 _Fool. You’re a damn fool_ , I wanted to scream at him. “You said that the king won’t move until after Calanmai. Will any of his troops arrive before then? To . . . to keep us safe?”

Tamlin understood my question. “You will be safe on Calanmai, Feyre,” he said. “I have to hunt that night and perform the ritual, but you’ll be kept safe until the Great Rite, and we’ll restore the magic together.”

I was going to vomit. He honestly thought that I would perform the Great Rite with him.

I think he sensed my hesitation, because he said, “It won’t be like last year,” he said. “You’ll be ready for it. We both will be. And I don’t . . .” He hissed out a long breath. “I don’t know what he did to you Feyre, but I promise I won’t hurt you like that.”

The beast under my skin raged and pounded within me, ready to murder him just for suggesting that Rhysand would do anything like that to me, but with great effort, I calmed myself. “What if I’m not the Maiden?”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“What if I’m not the Maiden? What if I’m too . . . tainted?”

“Nonsense,” Tamlin said. “The magic doesn’t work like that. It might . . . if you were still mated, it might not let you be the Maiden, but since that bond is broken . . .”

I loosed a sigh of relief, though not for the reasons he believed. I was still mated. I could not be the Maiden. I would not have to . . . Praise the Mother.

But that also meant I had far less time here than I thought. If Tamlin found out that the magic wouldn’t choose me because I was still mated . . . he would discover my deception. There was no more time for waiting. Whatever I could learn about Tamlin, Ianthe, and Hybern’s plans had to be discovered soon.

Good thing I had been practicing.

“I’ll be going to the coast for a couple of days to help manage . . . things,” Tamlin said, standing from the bed. “Lucien will be staying here to protect you. We haven’t had any word that anyone is coming for you, and I’m sure to keep my movements cloaked so that they don’t know when I am here and when I am away. You’ll be safe.”

 _Safe. Protected_. His favorite words. I smiled. I was my own protection. No one was coming for me because I had not yet given them the signal, but knowing Mor, there was already a plan in place for when I did tell them to move.

Tamlin kissed me on the brow before leaving me to get dressed alone. The first thing I did was go to the bathing room and wash my face.

Power thrummed under my skin as I looked in the mirror, and I understand what Rhys had been talking about when he had said it needed an outlet. So I let the power leak out of me, opening the window to let in the breeze and summoning my clothes from the drawer. Instead of bending over the basin of water to wash my face, I summoned it up to me and cleaned my skin with it. When I was done, I took a deep breath and braced my hands against the ivory basin, pondering all the new information I had. Especially the timeline.

I should have regretted taking so much time to integrate myself before beginning my work, but I didn’t. Tamlin trusted me again, at least as much as he was able. He wasn’t keeping as many secrets from me. As it was, I had a lot to tell Rhys.

Rhys.

Chips of ivory slipped away beneath my fingers as my grip cracked the surface of the basin. That dream last night . . . the first dream I had had since coming here that hadn’t been a nightmare. Had it been real? Could our bond really connect us through our dreams like that? I had no way of finding out if anything we said there could be communicated in our waking hours. If I could speak to him through my dreams . . .

I couldn’t guarantee that he would always be there, though my very blood prayed it would be true. Real or not, the feeling of his lips on my skin . . . desire pooled in my core at the very thought of it. I didn’t know how these dreams worked, didn’t know how I could send messages down that shimmering bridge to him. I needed a backup.

I had thought about our secret messages before, but it had seemed too risky to try and send word to Rhys that way. If something went wrong and they were discovered, that could be the end of both of us. Perhaps I could send very tiny messages, ones that were innocuous at first glance.

There was only one way to find out. I took my time getting ready and eating a late breakfast. I wanted to be sure that Tamlin was out of the house before I started snooping. I still knew this house like the back of my hand, from my days crawling through it when there had been nothing to occupy me at all except the exploration of the many halls and chambers. I was the perfect spy.

I went to the study first, where I knew I would find paper and a pen to attempt to send my message to Rhys. I wished I had bothered to ask if there was a particular kind of enchantment that allowed our silent communication to work, or if it would just do what I wanted. The only way to find out was to try. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one had followed me in before ordering the door to shut behind me with me magic. I grinned in satisfaction at the snick--this power came as easily as breathing.

I went to Tamlin’s desk and began rifling through papers. I knew that he wasn’t likely to leave any critical correspondence just laying out on his desk, so while I kept an eye out for keywords such as _Hybern_ or _armies_ or _Wall_ , I mostly just looked for a scrap of paper and a pen.

I found both without much trouble, and I scribbled a single word on the parchment--Calanmai. I traced over the letters again with my finger, trying to will the paper to do what I wanted. To Rhys, I thought. Only to Rhys. I shut my eyes and sent my magic into the paper.

When I opened my eyes, it was gone. I smiled. Now I could only hope that it wasn’t intercepted.

I looked up, trying to decide if I should wait here for his reply or trust that it would find me wherever it went. I had just decided to leave--and not push my luck--when my eye caught something above the doorway on the other side of the room.

My heart stopped.

Wings.

Illyrian wings.

The wings of Rhys’s mother and sister.

I stumbled out from behind Tamlin’s desk, knocking several papers from their organized pile, as I looked with horror upon the trophies Tamlin’s father had kept from his deplorable murders. They were spread out as if in flight, the former Lady’s wings larger than her daughter’s. I could still see the shimmering in the membranes, the way the glorious wings were meant to catch the light. The way Rhys’s wings still did. His family. This was his family.

My knees quaked and the power that pulsed through my body went reeling back like the tide before a massive wave, and I knew that if I didn’t fight it, I would destroy this room just like Tamlin once had.

I collapsed on my knees, shaking so hard that I thought I would burst open at any moment. I couldn’t--I couldn’t hold my glamour when the turmoil threatened to overwhelm me. And so the magic I kept to hide my true nature slipped away, revealing my own wings, my tattoo, the power that swirled off my skin like tendrils of night.

I screamed. No sound came out, as my darkness swallowed it up, protecting me from anyone who might come running at the sound of my scream. My hair whipped around my face as my wind magic ripped around me, and my fingers glowed like embers as I curled them into my palms, crossing my arms over my chest. _Rhys Rhys Rhys Rhys_. How did he do it? How could he contain this power, always lurking, always yearning to break free? He’d trained me on how to use it, how to control the individual parts of my magic, but we had not gotten a chance to explore together what being a High Lady would do to my powers.

I held on tightly to the bond that still held me together despite the roar of my magic, my only tether to the earth, to myself. I remembered some of his earliest advice--imagine it winking out, one by one. I took deep breaths, willing the fire in my fingers to cool, the wind tossing papers about the room to calm. The shaking stopped. Bit by bit.

I sat on my knees, rocking back and forth with my arms buckled across my abdomen. Deep breaths. Deep. The shadows that lingered around me brushed my cheek like fingers, calming me just as surely as Rhys’s own fingers would. A smile broke across my weary lips.

“ _Fuck_.”

My eyes snapped open and my head turned to one of the windows, where Lucien stood, looking at me with horror and awe on his face.

Then I realized--I had not replaced my glamour.

I stood to my feet, my wings stretched out behind me, my tattoo in full view on my arm, the shadows swirling through the space around my head, weaving in my hair.

Lucien’s stare broke from me to look at what had ignited my rage. His face went pale as he understood. He turned slowly back to me, his eyes flicking to my tattoo. I saw confusion line his brow as he realized it was on the wrong arm. “Feyre . . .” he breathed. “Who are you?”

I straightened, stretching my wings out on either side of me. “I am Feyre Archeron, Cursebreaker, Defender of the Rainbow, and High Lady of the Night Court.”

Lucien reeled back, his hand grasping the curtain, looking like he might be sick. “You . . . you married him? You’re Lady of the Night Court?”

“Not _Lady_ ,” I snapped. “ _High Lady_. And Rhysand and I are mates. That fool Hybern had no concept of what he was trying to do. A mating bond _cannot be broken_.”

Lucien sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, his knees bent. He ran his trembling hand through his red hair, staring at nothing. “So she really is safe, then.”

I reeled in my shadows and took two steps toward him. He cringed, and I stopped, unable to feel hurt or offended. I knew he was seeing one of his worst nightmares come true. “Do you think I would let any member of my court lay a _finger_ on one of my sisters?”

“But the Court of Nightmares . . .” Lucien said. “I’ve seen it. It’s terrible.”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“Tamlin doesn’t--”

“--have a clue,” I finished for him. “He still thinks I’m the half-starved huntress he dragged out of that hovel over a year ago. He hasn’t the faintest idea what I can do.”

Understanding filled Lucien’s eyes. “You broke the wards,” he said. “You got them out.”

I nodded.

“Tamlin hasn’t even tried to look for Elain,” Lucien said, his shoulder shaking. “I’ve begged, but he’s just said that he can’t spare the forces to find her.” His metal eye narrowed. “He could spare the forces to find _you_.” He sighed. “I knew it. I knew it the day I found you there in the forest. Saw you next to him--Rhysand. You were healthy . . . you seemed happy, even. I never told Bron or Hart this, but I saw you flash that crude gesture at him, like you would have at me . . . like he was your friend. I didn’t understand. I still don’t understand it.”

I said nothing. It would be impossible to explain it, especially in a way that would make Lucien understand.

He said, “He hurt you, Feyre. He’s hurt so many people. How could you love him?”

I blinked and then turned my head to the wings pinned above the doorway. “And Tamlin hasn’t?” Lucien went pale. “For someone who spent fifty years in a mask, you seem to forget that there’s more than one kind of mask.”

“You’re skilled at wearing them, it seems,” Lucien said, massaging his palms on his kneecaps. “It really is you, isn’t it, Feyre? You’re not just his puppet?”

“I never was,” I said. I sank down on the floor across from him, sitting cross-legged, my wings draping across the floor. “You know that no one can know what you’ve seen,” I said. “Too many lives would be put at risk, including mine, and Elain’s.”

Lucien flinched. “But why are you doing this? Why are you here, instead of with your court?”

“I am protecting my court,” I said. “Tamlin was not going to stop. You know that better than anyone. And he’s more than willing to let thousands die to keep me here. If my presence here will save innocent people, then I’m willing to do it.”

“Feyre.” Lucien gripped the back of his neck and let out a long breath.

“Lucien, I’m sure you know that I could reach into your mind right now and make you forget everything. I won’t, because you’re my friend. Or were, at one point. And I think you know that what Tam is doing is dangerous, and that many people will be hurt by his decisions. I’m not asking you to trust Rhys, or like my court. But I am asking you to trust me, because I think we’ve earned that from each other at this point.”

I stood and offered him my hand, and he eyed it warily for a moment before, at last, he gripped my hand and allowed me to pull him up. He regarded me, cunning as a fox, and his eyes traced my wings.

“My only question is,” he said, a grin finally cracking is features, “can you fly?”


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR - Rhysand**

I winnowed with Mor and Amren to the cabin in the mountains for the first time since arriving back in my territory. I had many concerns to deal with, and if I’d thought Feyre would be displeased with me when I brought her to the Night Court the first time, I knew Nesta would not want to see me for a moment. Mor and Amren, on the other hand, would be better company for them.

“Anything I should be prepared for?” I asked Mor as we walked up to the cabin. It was still very cold, though the snow had stopped falling and the promise of spring was in the air. I kept my wing tucked close to my back to prevent them from getting too chilled.

“Besides the sheer force of personality?” Mor quipped, adjusting the collar of her coat.

“Yes, besides that,” I drawled.

“Nesta likes fire,” Amren replied. “It got . . . a little dicey, that first day.”

“Please tell me she didn’t destroy anything,” I sighed, genuine worry gripping my chest. The cabin was still covered with Feyre’s paintings, and I didn’t want a single one of them harmed.

“Not yet,” Amren said. “The Mother has blessed us and Mor hasn’t pissed her off yet.”

Mor snarled and I chuckled.

We reached the door of the cabin and I knocked. “Lady Nesta? Lady Elain?” I called. “It’s Rhysand. With Mor and Amren.”

“Come in,” said Elain’s soft voice.

We stepped over the threshold and the tension in my chest released as I saw that Feyre’s paintings were still intact. Though, as I had suspected, Cassian’s eyes over the hall doorway had been added to--an ugly, bushy moustache now rested beneath them, no doubt put there by Mor.

“Nice of _you_ to finally show up,” Nesta said. She sat at the table near the kitchen--the table where I’d been when Feyre accepted our mate bond. I tensed. Being back here was more difficult than I’d planned, and Nesta hadn’t said much of anything yet.

She was beautiful, though I wouldn’t dare say that to her. Her ears arched up into points that even I wouldn’t call delicate--rather, they made me think more of daggers. Her face was sculpted, angular, piercing, every bit of her looking like it had been fashioned from crystal. Though she had been a force to be reckoned with before, now her form suited her personality. The King of Hybern hadn’t known just what kind of a mistake he’d made in turning her into a High Fae.

“Forgive me,” I said, sweeping a half-bow in her direction. “I had to tend to my friends, and deal with the aftermath of Hybern. I did not want to aggravate you with my presence here.”

Truthfully, I knew they--or Nesta, anyway--would likely hold me responsible for what had happened to them. I knew that they had no desire to be High Fae. I could feel it rippling off them even now that they’d had a few days to process the transformation. I was struck by the force of Nesta’s emotions, raging beneath her cool exterior. Feyre had not been wrong about her.

I would teach her how to shield immediately.

“Aren’t you going to ask how we are?” drawled Nesta, picking non-existent dirt out from under her fingernails. “That’s the polite thing to do.”

“And in this case, the ignorant thing,” I said, leaning on the back of the couch and crossing my arms over my shoulders. “You’ve just been turned immortal against your will. To ask how you are would be an insult to you.”

Nesta’s eyebrow quirked, and I knew that she was pleased despite herself. “I’ll admit that I like the convenience of a house that does what you wish without busybody servants around.”

“I agree,” Amren said, perching cross-legged on the kitchen counter, looking very much like a wildcat in her habitat.

“Is Feyre all right?” Elain asked, already tiring of the game. “Have you heard from her?”

“She’s alive. Safe and alive,” I said.

“How do you know?” Elain whispered.

I cleared my throat and looked at Mor to see if she’d said anything about the mating bond. I wondered if it was even wise to bring it up. “Feyre and I . . . are connected. We can feel each other at all times. It isn’t communication, per se, but it lets me knows she is alive.” I had felt her strongly that morning, a brief chaotic pull that had sent my alarms ringing, until I’d realized that her training had just gotten out of hand, and she had clung to me for balance. The soothing, lethal peace that had followed assured me that she was all right.

“You’re talking about the mating bond,” Nesta said, cutting to the chase as usual. “That nonsense thing that Fae lord invoked on Hybern. Such a bond is wishful thinking. Likely an invention by the Fae lords to entrap women with their . . . allure.” Something sparked in her eyes, and through her unprotected mind I got a very distinct sense of Cassian. Interesting.

“It isn’t nonsense,” I said quietly. “It is foreign to you, certainly, and it is rare enough among our kind. And it requires the female’s consent--she must accept the bond for it to become permanent. Otherwise, there is no bond.”

“And Feyre consented?” Nesta asked, her eyebrow arching.

“In this very room.” A wicked grin twisted my mouth as I looked at the table where Nesta sat, remembering how exactly Feyre and I had begun the mating process. I could still taste her . . .

Nesta turned to her sister. “That settles that, then. You simply don’t consent, and that male can never lay a hand on you.” Elain shuddered with relief.

I held up a hand. “Your choice is yours,” I said. “I hope I might ease some of your concerns by telling you that Lucien is _not_ Tamlin. He is . . . a bit entangled in his High Lord’s mess at the moment, but he was always good to Feyre.” Except that one night in the forest that I refused to mention.

“That’s far from a glowing endorsement,” Nesta said, her eyes glinting. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Elain is _not_ . . . mating with him, or getting anywhere near him. He is High Fae, and she . . .” Nesta’s eyes widened as she realized that her argument was dead in the water. They were both High Fae now. If she was still determined to keep her sister away from our kind . . . well, it was their kind now, too.

“What is to become of us?” Elain murmured.

“Surely Mor has told you,” I said, glancing at my cousin, who nodded and held up her hands to proclaim her innocence. “You are members of my household. Anything that you need or want, I will do my best to provide for you. If you would like to stay here, you are welcome. If you would like to come to Velaris and set up a home there, you may do that as well. You are the blood of the High Lady of the Night Court. Want is a word that shall never be in your vocabulary again.”

Tears of gratitude slipped down Elain’s face. Nesta, however, said in a low voice, “High Lady? There is no such thing.”

I nodded. “There is now. Feyre is my High Lady, my queen, and she is my equal in power and authority.”

Confusion flicked through Nesta’s eyes, and she leaned against the back of her chair, pensive. I could read bits of her thoughts. _I knew she loved him, but I didn’t expect . . . Feyre, a queen? Elain . . ._

After a long moment, she clicked her fingernails on the surface of the table and said, “So, lives of luxury?” she said. “We have this power now, and we’re not required to pledge it to your service?” She snapped her fingers and a flame appeared over her hand. I was sure my face showed my surprise at the control she was already exercising.

I laughed quietly. “No. I don’t require such pledges in my court. I could offer you the same thing I offered your sister once. If you would like to work for me, to help me in the coming fight, I shall pay you handsomely and you shall receive certain other privileges.”

Nesta seemed unimpressed. “Elain will not work for you. That’s out of the question.”

“Nesta,” Elain protested weakly, but at a look from her sister, she did not argue further.

Nesta rose to her feet, and her new, very proportional frame suited her well. “I, however, have a personal score to settle with that king across the sea. And my other sister . . .” She paused and took a breath. “I failed her once. Now it seems she is my queen in addition to my sister, and if there’s a way I can help get her back, after all she did to help us escape . . . I’ll do it.”

I smirked at Amren and Mor. “Excellent. As it just so happens, you and your fire magic might be just the tool we need to help get Feyre out of the Spring Court.” I walked around to another couch and sat down to lounge on it. “You may want to get comfortable, Nesta Archeron. Mor has put a lot of thought into this already, and she won’t spare you any details. We could be here all night.” Mor glared at me but I grinned at her as she crossed to plop in an armchair.

I had heard the whole plan before, top to bottom, so I gave myself permission to let my mind wander, to run a mental hand down the bond between me and Feyre. This whole cabin still smelled like her, even with the addition of her sisters. Part of me felt like she was going to come down that hallway any minute, splattered with paint and eyes gleaming with ideas for her next decoration.

I hoped she could paint in the Spring Court. I hated, hated letting her go back there, when it had so nearly destroyed her once, but she was strong. She was stronger than any of them, including Ianthe. And given that Tamlin had not yet declared war on the Night Court, I assumed her espionage was going well. I just wished I could talk to her, hold her, kiss her . . .

There was a clink on the coffee table in front of me and I leaned forward to see a scrap of paper and . . . a very Spring Court sort of pen rolling away from it.

My stomach clenched as I snatched the paper off the table. Mor interrupted her plan to stare at me, and Nesta’s eyes followed hers.

I unfurled the curling edge of the parchment, and my blood sang when I saw Feyre’s handwriting on the page. There was only one word, but I stared at it for far longer than it took to read it. _Calanmai_. I laughed, and Mor cleared her throat to demand and explanation.

“Looks like your High Lady is one step ahead of you,” I said, flicking the parchment to her.

Mor frowned. “I can’t see anything.”

I grabbed the paper back from her and saw with utter clarity Feyre’s writing on the page. My heart thrummed and I murmured down the bond, _You clever, clever woman_. She’d enchanted it for my eyes only. “It’s a test,” I explained. “She’s trying to communicate with us. She’s identified Calanmai as important. I don’t know what the importance is just yet, but I can find out.”

“Does this change anything for us?” Nesta asked. I tried not to point out her use of the word us.

“Not yet,” I said. “I’ll try and get more information from her. If it affects you, you’ll know.”

Without another word, I snatched the Spring Court pen and the parchment and stalked off to one of the back bedrooms, locking the door behind me. My mate was waiting for my response, and she would not be disappointed.

_~~Dearest Feyre,~~ _

_~~My love,~~ _

_~~O Most Radiant High Lady~~ _

_Feyre, darling._

_Your test worked. Even Mor could not read it. I miss that clever mind of yours._

_Among other things._

_Tell me if you can, darling, why Calanmai is important. Mor has her own ideas, as usual._

_I have so much I want to say to you, but I’ll save it for when you’re home again. I’ve returned dear Tamlin’s pen. I hope he didn’t miss it too much._

_Rhys_

I laid my own enchantment over the parchment, and before I let it slip away, I pressed a kiss to it. Maybe, just maybe, she would feel it when she opened the letter. As the letter slipped away into nothingness, a strong urge, a certainty, pulsed through my body.

By the end of the week I would have my queen returned to me.

And then nothing in heaven or earth would be able to tear us apart again.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

To say Lucien was disappointed when I told him I couldn’t fly was an understatement.

“So they’re just for show? How very like you, Feyre,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I _could_ use them,” I retorted, “but I haven’t had the chance to learn _how_. And frankly, jumping off the roof of the manor where anyone could see does not sound particularly appealing.”

Lucien snorted and I jabbed him with my elbow. “Ah yes. You’re to be the blushing flower, aren’t you?”

“Yes, exactly,” I said. I became serious. “If that’s what it takes to keep the people I love alive, then I’ll do it.” I thought of everything Rhys had done for the same reason, and I knew that compared to what he had been through, this disguise of mine was hardly anything. And I had to admit, having Lucien in on the secret eased the burden significantly.

Lucien looked at me, his metal eye whirring. “You know I won’t say anything.”

“I know,” I said sincerely. “Besides, I’m sure you want me in your head even less than I want to be there.”

Surprise darted across Lucien’s face before he laughed--the first time I had seen him laugh in ages.

“What was it you were writing?” he asked me, jutting his chin toward the desk.

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest. “Just because you caught me with my glamour down doesn’t mean you’re privy to all my secrets, dear Lucien,” I said.

“‘Dear Lucien?’” he asked. “Cauldron boil me, you even _sound_ like him, now!”

I tried to hide the flicker of pleasure in my eyes at the unintended compliment. I said, “I could always just call you _prick_ ,” I quipped, raising one eyebrow.

Amusement danced across Lucien’s features. “I think I’ll take it.” He paused and took a deep breath. “So now what? Hybern is coming here at the end of the week. What are you planning?”

I rolled my eyes. “Right over your head, as usual,” I said. “Frankly, I don’t know. Tamlin says he’s going to start taking down the Wall as soon as the magic has been replenished at Calanmai. My question is, can he even do that without the Cauldron?”

“He has the Cauldron,” Lucien reminded me.

“But not the Book of Breathings,” I said, “and I’m not sure if he needs the Book to manage the Cauldron’s magic.” I could barely remember what had happened in those moments when I had failed to disarm the Cauldron--the magic had been so overwhelming. If I had only had more time, I might have been able to do something with it, but in hindsight I wasn’t so sure.

“He’ll definitely need the Cauldron to destroy the Wall,” Lucien said. “There won’t be enough power otherwise.”

I bit my lip and started pacing, unable to stand still with the surge of thoughts and possibilities running through me. “What if Tamlin wasn’t honest with me?” I asked. “What if Hybern isn’t coming after Calanmai, but on it? He needs power, and magic is almost entirely wild that night. If he plans to harness it . . . it would be the perfect time.”

“Tamlin might not know--”

“Lucien, for Cauldron’s sake!” I spat. “Tamlin knows, and you know it. Believe me, I wish as much as you do that he would make different decisions, that he would stop before too much damage was done, but I really think the king has convinced . . .” Cold horror seeped through my blood and I trailed off.

Lucien noticed the pure terror on my face and stepped closer to me. “Feyre?”

“He wants me to perform the Great Rite with him,” I said. “Hybern wants to use the magic Tamlin and I would produce to power the Cauldron and start destroying the Wall.”

Lucien stepped away from me as though the ice in my blood had stung him, too. “Feyre, you can’t really think that he would . . .”

“I don’t know what Tamlin is thinking,” I said, cold steel in my voice. “I haven’t broken into his mind--yet. But he seemed very sure that he and I would be the ones to create the magic, and if Hybern comes that night, he’ll use-- _steal_ \--whatever we produce to achieve his goals.”

Lucien’s horrified silence made everything worse. “Cauldron boil me . . .” he breathed.

“The Cauldron is going to boil us all if we don’t do something,” I said. I hissed out a long breath. “At least I know already that it’s not going to work.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien asked.

“Tamlin said that the magic won’t identify me as the Maiden if I’m mated. He doesn’t know, of course, and neither does Hybern, but he won’t be able to choose me for the Great Rite.”

The pain that flashed across Lucien’s face gave me pause. I stopped pacing and locked my eyes on Lucien’s gaze. “What?” I demanded.

“It’s just . . . he can choose. He would have chosen you last year, and you weren’t even Fae yet. I’ll admit I don’t know about the mating bond, but if he wants you . . . that’s what drives the magic.”

I stiffened and I couldn’t stop the lashes of darkness from whipping around me. Lucien leaned back in his chair, eyes wide, before I calmed myself enough to reel them in again. Fury--cold fury pulsed through me at the thought of Tamlin touching me--using me like that. And the worst part was, I knew he would do it, no matter what he had promised. I remembered what he had been like last year, when Hybern’s influence _hadn’t_ been at work. “I’ll kill him,” I breathed. “I don’t want to, if only for your sake, but if he lays a hand on me, I _will_ kill him, Lucien.”

Lucien’s voice was a whisper and he cast his gaze to the floor. “I know.” He let out a deep breath and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “We’ll just have to keep you away from him.”

“And that worked so well last year.”

Lucien cringed.

“It would be an act of war for him to bed me,” I said quietly. “Not only as the mate of a High Lord, but as a High Lady myself. Rhysand would wipe this court off the face of the earth if he thought that Tamlin harmed me like that . . . and I would help him.”

“Feyre,” Lucien finally barked. “This is my _home_. This was _your_ home. How can you speak about it like that?”

“I told you in the woods, Lucien. This is not my home anymore, and hasn’t been for a long time. Frankly, you and Alis are the only ones keeping me from destroying it this minute, considering it has now committed treason by allying with Hybern. Tamlin doesn’t want the best for Prythian. He just wants the best for himself, no matter who suffers in the meantime. Even you.” My voice softened at the end and Lucien’s shoulders quaked.

“What will I do?” Lucien asked, his voice trembling. “I’ve already left one court, and I’m not welcome back. I’ll be spat on, though of as a traitor, if I go behind Tam’s back now. And after all he’s done for me . . .”

I finally put my full glamour back in place and knelt on the ground beside him, resting my hand on his arm. “He did a lot for me, too, Lucien. I will never forget that. But what he did then and what he’s doing now are two different things. And you must be a real idiot if you think that I would ask for your help and then leave you without a court to call home.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. “You’re saying you’d let me come to the Night Court?”

I eyed him as though examining him. “You’re a little . . . tame for the Night Court, but I think we could fix that.”

Lucien’s eyes sparked with the challenge. “Tame?” he demanded, baring his teeth. He winnowed off the chair to the other side of the room and I turned to look at him, arms crossed over my chest.

“So scary,” I deadpanned.

Lucien shuddered. “Let’s not have a battle about who can be the scariest, because I’m sure you would win, Feyre.”

I laughed and Lucien finally smiled again, his trembling stilled.

“Back to business,” I said. “Tell me--what exactly happens on Calanmai? I was a little . . . mortal, last year. I remember Tamlin or you saying something about a white stag?”

Lucien nodded and sank down into a nearby chair. “The white stag isn’t only a stag . . . it’s the way the magic is personified that night. Every year, the High Lord of the Spring Court hunts it and sacrifices it, ensuring that its magic fills the Spring Court and helps the crops. The Great Rite can’t even happen unless the white stag is sacrificed.”

“And what would happen if the white stag isn’t caught?” I asked.

Lucien frowned. “Chaos, or pretty damn near it. There would be no channel for the wild magic, no way to anchor it to the Spring Court. I can’t say for sure what would happen, since it never has, but it would not be good.” Lucien’s eyes scanned my face, crinkled in determined thought, and he opened his mouth to argue with me.

I cut him off. “No white stag, no Great Rite, no way for Hybern to claim the magic.”

“Feyre, do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?” Lucien hissed. “You’re talking about interfering with magic deeper than the world, deeper than any of us. The white stag is older than everything in Prythian except the Cauldron itself.”

“I’m not sure of that,” I said, thinking about the Weaver and the many other tremendous, ancient things that I had encountered in the past several months.

“Trust me, not hunting the stag--or keeping Tamlin from doing it--would be a bad idea,” Lucien insisted.

An idea sparked through me, and my mouth twisted in mischief. “What if Tamlin wasn’t the one to catch it?”

Lucien, sharp as ever, picked up on my thought immediately. “You want to hunt the white stag?”

“Is it really that hard?” I asked. “I’ve hunted plenty of deer before.”

“Mortal arrogance,” Lucien huffed. “The white stag is no ordinary deer, and Tamlin is a very experienced hunter. You’d be out there competing for the same prize. He’d know. You might have to face him.”

“I’d rather face him on my own terms than in that hideous cave where he thinks he’ll have any piece of me,” I snapped. Lucien blanched, and then nodded grimly.

“What would I do with the stag after I caught it?” I asked.

“Kill it,” Lucien said with a shrug. “There might be blood-drinking involved, but I’ve never actually witnessed it. That’s when the magic would enter you and you’d be driven to perform the Great Rite.”

I froze. “I’d still have to . . .”

“Not necessarily with Tamlin,” Lucien said, “but as a High Lady it’s part of your duty, anyway. You’re going to have to fuck someone that night, but at least you’ll be able to choose who.”

I wanted to make a joke about it, but it wouldn’t come. Instead, I felt vaguely ill. There was only one person I was interested in having that night, and I had no idea if he’d even make it there. _No_ , I reminded myself. _If you want him there, he’ll be there._

“Well, I’m not doing any of this unless I’m sure that Hybern won’t get his claws on whatever magic is loosed that night,” I said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s produced by me or by Tamlin, but if Hybern gets that magic, a lot of bad things are going to happen. So . . .”

“So?” Lucien asked, looking at me nervously.

“I think I’d really like to pick through the minds of some of Hybern’s brutes and figure out just what he has planned,” I said. “What do you say, O Loyal Protector? Will you escort me?”

Lucien gritted his teeth. “Tamlin will kill me,” he muttered.

I stepped toward him and gripped his arm. “He’ll have to get through the High Lady of the Night Court, first.”

Lucien rolled his shoulders as though steeling himself. “Well, I suppose I’ve been wanting to go on an adventure. Playing guard duty has gotten a little boring.”

I laughed. “Well, Lucien, you know you can always count on me to spice things up.”

Lucien grumbled something indistinguishable under his breath, but when he put his hand over mine, my heart clenched with joy. I had my friend back.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX - Rhysand

I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do more--wait for Feyre’s reply, or go to sleep and hope to see her in my dreams. I was back at the townhouse, where I’d brought Nesta and Elain before allowing Mor to show them to another home where they could wait for the right time to leave. Nesta had expressed boredom with the mountain cabin, and I was frankly glad to get them both out of there.

“So, this is Velaris,” she had said when we had winnowed her to the top of the street near my home. I waited to hear if she would say anything else, but she didn’t. In fact, even her mind was oddly quiet. Feyre had practically shouted her thoughts at me after she’d been Made, and I knew I would have heard them even without the bargain. With Nesta, I received a few quiet thoughts and now then, but for the most part she was silent.

Elain’s thoughts, on the other hand, where a whirl of wonder and delight, with a trace of fear. “I didn’t realize it was so beautiful,” she murmured.

“This is what you traded to the queens for the Book,” Nesta said.

I wanted to cringe, but I didn’t let her see it. “We survived the attack.”

“Bitches,” Nesta muttered.

I led them inside my townhome, and Nesta froze at the doorway of the living area when she saw Cassian spread out there. He bore his teeth and glared at me, and her fingers gripped the door frame.

“What is she doing here?” Cassian snapped, fury rolling off of him in waves.

“I was invited,” Nesta sniffed. “That cabin was a bore.” Her face remained emotionless as her eyes scanned him. “I’m sorry about your wings.”

Cassian snarled and Nesta’s fingers gripped the wood so tightly I sensed she was about to dent it. Unwilling to let my house be damaged too easily, I said, “Mor, if you would take the ladies upstairs to grab some supplies and show them to their new residence, I would appreciate it.”

Mor nodded and led Elain and Nesta away from the den. When their backs were turned, Cassian sent a silent message to me. _Why did you let her see me like this?_

Nesta whirled around, nostrils flared. “Get over yourself!” she snapped.

Cassian’s eyes went wide, and so did mine.

“Nesta,” I said quietly, “did you hear what Cassian just said?”

“Of course I did,” she snapped. “He practically shouted it.”

I looked at Amren, who raised her hands in innocence. She hadn’t known.

“No, he didn’t,” I said. “That was intended only for me. Those were Cassian’s thoughts, Nesta.”

Nesta snarled. “Ridiculous!” she said.

“No, not ridiculous,” I said. “It’s a particular kind of magic unrestricted to any court. I have it, and so does Feyre.” I paused and tilted my head, considering the wrathful sister. “Now that I think about it, it’s not ridiculous in the slightest that you have that talent.”

“A daemati and fire magic?” Mor gasped. “Oh, she’ll be so much fun in the Autumn Court!”

I cleared my throat and gave her a look. “I don’t expect Nesta to be able to use her daemati skill quite so soon,” I said.

“Why not?” Nesta asked, folding her arms over her chest. “What even is it, anyway?”

“Mind magic, to be crude,” I replied. “You have the ability to walk among the thoughts of others, as long as they’re not shielded against you. It’s a great gift, but also a burden.” I held a finger up to my lips thoughtfully. “You seem to already have mental shields, meaning that others cannot gain access to your thoughts easily. I hadn’t suspected that you were a daemati yourself.”

“Anyone who attempts to invade my thoughts will regret it thoroughly,” Nesta said through her teeth.

I smiled. “Indeed. I’m wondering . . . what do you see when you look at me?”

“A swaggering High Lord with far too good an opinion of himself.”

I laughed. “Well, you’re not immune to my glamour, then. That’s a small thing, besides.”

“I’ve resisted a High Lord’s glamour before,” Nesta said. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“You have?” Then I remembered--Nesta had not fallen for Tamlin’s glamour on her family after her had first taken Feyre. My mate had mentioned that to me once, but now I was seeing it with my own eyes.

“I refuse to be caught by surprise,” Nesta said.

“If I had to guess, your shields are driven by self-preservation--showing you whatever is in your best interest,” I said. “There’s no need for you to see me without my glamour, and it would likely rattle you too much to be good for you. Whatever instincts you have, they’re good ones.”

Nesta didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so she huffed and locked her glare on Cassian again. “If you have anything to say concerning me again, I’d prefer if you voiced it out loud instead of complaining when I haven’t even left the room yet.”

I pursed my lips to hold in my laughter as Nesta whirled out of the room and stalked upstairs with Mor. I sat down beside Cassian, who was still stewing.

“Another damned daemati running around,” he muttered.

“Don’t let it injure your pride too much,” I said, hooking my foot over my knee and leaning back.

“This whole blasted situation damages my pride,” Cassian seethed. “A week now, and I can’t even get up and move without help. How is the healing coming?”

I gritted my teeth. He asked this just about every hour. “The membrane is healing, but you know that it takes time for it to build up strength again.” I saw a look on Cassian’s face and cut him off before he started, “There’s no way in hell you’re going to the Autumn Court.”

“I got left behind last time!” Cassian protested. “Are you ever going to--” he stopped his rant at my glare and the ripple of power that signaled my irritation.

“War is coming, Cassian,” I reminded him, “and I need you in fighting shape. If that means pinning you down here for a while so that you can fly again when I need you, then I’ll do it. Stay here. That’s an order from your High Lord.” I smirked. “Besides, I think your High Lady would rip me to shreds if I let anything happen to you. She became awfully fond of you.”

“Of course she did,” Cassian said, the glint in his eye returning at the thought of Feyre. “When you see her, tell her I’d be happy to castrate the High Lord of Spring for her.”

“There’s a line, my friend, and Feyre’s at the front of it,” I drawled, my heart warming as I stroked our bond. I stretched out my limbs and stood to my feet. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather like to sleep a bit. Don’t whine too much in your sleep.”

Cassian gave me a crude gesture and I laughed before strolling upstairs to my room.

\--

_Death. Blood. Chaos. Shame. Guilt. Pain._

Such was my dream before I toppled at the edge of the precipice and felt her hand upon my arm.

I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped her up in my arms and breathed in her scent with as deep a breath as I could manage. “Feyre,” I breathed, my exhale causing my whole body to shudder. Tears of relief pricked the corners of my eyes, and for a long moment we just stood and held each other. “Are you all right? I was so worried. I felt something on the bond today and I didn’t know what to think--”

“Babbling, my lord?” she teased, running her painter’s hands up and down my arms as she pulled away enough to look her in the eyes. “That’s not like your usual suave self.”

I didn’t even have it in me to return the teasing. I just dipped my head down and kissed her, slow and steady, and she matched my rhythm. Her hand rose and tangled in my hair while her mouth opened to me. I plunged my tongue in, tasting her, breathing her . . . my mate. I finally broke away and rested my forehead on hers. “It’s harder than I thought,” I rasped, “being away from you.” I traced my fingers up and down her cheek.

“I know,” she said. “It’s the same for me. I want to be your High Lady, with you. You’ve been doing this a while. I . . . sometimes I think the magic is going to overwhelm me.”

“It can feel like that,” I agreed. “Is that what happened today?”

Feyre nodded. “I saw . . . something terrible. And it was like cracking open, all the magic pouring out of me. I couldn’t stop it.” She grimaced and then laid her hand over mine on her cheek. “But then I thought of you, how you would tell me to conquer it. It worked.”

My mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Good to know I’m still making myself useful. Did anyone see?”

Feyre cringed. “Lucien.”

I hissed.

“He’s safe,” Feyre said. “He sees what Tamlin’s doing with Hybern, and he doesn’t want anyone else to die either, especially now that he has Elain to think about. Which he does all the time, apparently.” Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “I’ll have to ask Mor if you were that bad those first few months.”

“Worse, probably,” I said with a laugh. “If I didn’t value my tongue so much I would have spent all my time singing your praises. Also ranting about how obnoxious you are, but mostly singing praises.”

“I’m glad you didn’t make her cut your tongue out,” Feyre said. Her smile became delightfully wicked. “I rather value your tongue myself.”

She didn’t need to do any more than tilt her head for me to groan and run my tongue up the side of her throat. I pressed tiny kisses at the back of her jaw before applying my tongue to the skin of her ear, too. “Rhys,” she sighed, her fingers contracting against my arms. My hands dropped and hooked into the band of her pants, but they didn’t go any lower. “What are you waiting for?” she muttered.

“Greedy, greedy,” I teased. I dragged my mouth along her jaw again before saying onto her lips, “Feyre darling, I don’t know how long this dream is going to last, and I’d rather not hurry with you. I know you like it when I take my time.”

“Damn you,” she whispered onto my mouth, but I felt her smile. She cradled my face in both of her hands. “Come to me on Calanmai.”

Calanmai. I almost lost control right then at the thought of what we could do on that night.

“You think I would miss it?” I asked. “Our anniversary!” I clucked like a disgruntled nursemaid. “Even if Mor wasn’t already planning on busting you out of there that night, I would be there. I would come for you.”

“You have to,” she insisted, and the teasing was gone from her eyes. “I’m going to hunt the white stag. I’m going to become the Hunter. I need you.”

“You’re going to take the stag right from under Tamlin’s nose?” I asked, my face lighting in awe.

“If I don’t, Hybern will get the magic he brings in that night. He’ll use it to power the Cauldron, destroy the Wall.”

I swore. “Feyre, you don’t have to . . . I don’t want you forced into doing anything like that. We’ll find a way to stop Hybern with or without the magic of Calanmai.”

The playfulness returned to Feyre’s face. “Are you saying you _don’t_ want to come play in the woods with me?”

I scooped my hand around the back of her neck and kissed her. “I will play with you anytime, anywhere, darling. Just not if it hurts you.”

“It won’t,” she said. “Not if I have you there with me.”

“You know, all that magic will come straight to the Night Court, then,” I said thoughtfully. How delightfully ironic--the bride of Spring stealing its magic away for her true home in the Night.

“All the better,” she said, brushing my lips with hers.

“My brave queen,” I said. “Will you never cease to amaze me?”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she murmured. She pulled back enough to look over my full face again. “I can’t send you letters,” she said. “Even though the enchantment worked, it’s too dangerous. I can send small things. When Calanmai comes, I’ll tell you where to be. I’ll convince Lucien to help you get in. Find me in the place we met.”

Warmth flooded my veins. “I’ll be there.”

Feyre groaned and leaned her head against my chest. “This week is going to be torture.”

“That will make you want me all the more. What magic we’ll make on Calanmai, Feyre, darling.”

And even as the dream around us began to fade, my blood roared with desire at the thought of my mate.

What magic indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

 

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

It was incredibly easy to sneak just outside of the gates of the manor so Lucien could winnow us to the nearest cluster of Hybern’s troops. Even this was a significant distance from the manor, which I had learned was in the eastern part of the Spring Court. It was fairly central, but was still closer to Autumn Court than to Summer. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t bothered to learn all this information when I had first come to the Spring Court--even before Amarantha. Such things hadn’t been of interest to a human girl whose world was already very small. Anything outside of my village growing up had seemed enormous, too big to fathom.

I had committed the map of the Spring Court to memory now, knowing that it could mean the safety of everyone I cared about. Hybern’s troops had not yet come very far into the territory, lingering in the west. They had come further than the coast, but the camps had far from spread out into the heart of Tamlin’s territory. I did not allow myself to take comfort in this--if my suspicions were right, they’d be near the manor by Calanmai.

Tamlin had said they would not come near or into the manor. I knew that Tamlin was wrong. It hurt to know that he was about to hand over everything that he loved, even me, and he didn’t even know it.

The army reeked, and I crinkled my nose against the onslaught of faerie body odor. There was a variety a faeries present, most of them lesser faeries. Many were like the Attor, whose scream echoed in my ears as I beheld an arrangement of its kin. There were other kinds, too, like reptiles, insects, but also not quite any of those things. I wished I had centuries of experience behind me to know what each kind of faerie was, to know what threat they posed. I asked Lucien in a whisper as we hid beneath some brush, my shadows helping to keep us obscured.

“Whatever they can or can’t do isn’t their purpose,” Lucien said. “They’re brute strength. They’re only meant to destroy the Wall, and kill anyone who tries to stop them.”

“Charming,” I muttered.

“They probably won’t know anything useful,” Lucien pointed out.

“No, but they might know about someone who does,” I argued.

“How close do you need to be?”

“I’ll try from here, but I might need to get closer.”

“Don’t get too close--they’ll smell you for sure,” Lucien said.

“Are you saying I stink?” I accused.

“Yes,” Lucien retorted. I elbowed him.

I closed my eyes and reached out to the groups of faeries just beyond the knoll upon which we were perched. I shivered at the vileness that leaked from their mines--thoughts of drinking blood, sucking the marrow from broken bones, digging through open corpses to find the tastiest organs. I pressed a hand to my abdomen and fought past the nausea. It reminded me too much to Clare’s body, which haunted me still even though I now knew that Rhys had taken away her pain.

Rhys--my beautiful, merciful mate, who would never know what burden he had taken from me when he’d told me that Clare hadn’t suffered. She had still died--that was still blood on my hands--but her broken and bloody corpse no longer lingered behind my eyelids every time I closed them.

I waded through the gruesome appetites of the faerie foot soldiers, I listened for names--anything that might give me a clue on who to seek out to learn Hybern’s plans.

Suddenly, a wave of fear rolled over the whole camp. It was in all their minds. They shuffled back, put their heads down, did everything to avoid his eyes. Through their senses I could feel his footfall--slightly uneven, as though one foot was heavier than the other. Yet there was a smoothness to him, one that unnerved even the faeries. Through the dark, I could not see the face, but I slipped into the mind of one weak-willed faery, and my blood chilled.

Jurian.

I hissed and Lucien looked at me in alarm. “Jurian’s here,” I replied.

“Let’s go,” Lucien said immediately.

“No, I haven’t learned anything yet!” I argued. I didn’t know when I could slip out of the manor again--I couldn’t waste this opportunity.

Daring and determination gripped my body, my instincts. What if I could slip into Jurian’s mind? He would know just as much about Hybern’s plans as Hybern himself, or near to it.

Lucien seemed to read the look on my face. “Feyre, don’t you dare,” he warned.

It was too late. I’d already begun reaching toward Jurian, who was near enough to allow me to find his mental shields. I could already tell he was different: not Fae, not human, exactly. He had been human once, and I could recognize that in his mind, in his . . . _flavor_. The word sent shivers up my spine, but it was exactly the right word to describe the nature of his mind. Rhys’s walls were adamant. Jurian’s were something wilder, something thrashing and endlessly moving, never resting. Like a tangle of living vines. The moment I thought I saw a crack to slip through, it moved, replaced by a wall of vines. Instead of darting about to find my opening, I waited, and finally, a crack opened just enough for me to slip in.

Chaos. Utter chaos, rage, and loathing. That was all I found inside. It was five centuries of feeling, living, _breathing_ that he hadn’t had, all bound up and bursting from lack of use. I couldn’t make sense of the whirling shapes and colors, though every so often, I saw Rhys’s face surrounded by bloodred hatred, or Amarantha’s face laid in black, or the world as it had appeared from her finger. Nothing--nothing I could understand.

No wonder Jurian had seemed mad in Hybern. He was.

I began to panic when I saw my own face flying through the images in his mind, surrounded by red, gold, green, and black--with tinges of white. He clearly thought something about me, but I could hardly imagine what. Too many things, probably.

Then there was a beautiful face. A woman--not Fae, but with the bearing of Fae. Rose-colored light surrounded her, but she never looked directly toward me. I only saw her jaw, her curved ears, traces of deep chestnut hair and tawny skin. As she turned further away, the light around her turned deep blue then vibrant green.

I scrambled back against Jurian’s mental shields as I heard a voice whisper, _Who is in my head? I can feel you, pretty little daemati._

Out. I had to get out. I turned to face the wall of creeping vines again, and found it almost as impenetrable as the first time. A black snake slithered along the ground and started wrapping itself around my ankles.

_I’m going to catch you and snare you and make you share the madness._

Shapes, monsters, coloring, came roaring at me from the wilderness of Jurian’s mind as the snake’s tongue flicked against my ankles. T _amlin’s bride . . . oh how wonderful._

The strange shapes snapped into clear images. Unable to move, I was forced to watch as Jurian’s memory showed me Rhys, pinned to the ground by the wings with ash stakes. He looked starved, freezing, half-wild . . . weak. I clapped my hand to my mouth, but the memory then turned to see Amarantha stalking toward me, dressed not in a queen’s gown but in battle raiments, her gaze filled with the same bloodlust that had been in her eyes when she had killed me.

I screamed as the pain began, as the great battle between Jurian and Amarantha destroyed the world around them. My pain was Jurian’s pain, and it flashed through me at such great speed that I was left breathless and weak.

I needed to get away, get out, but the longer the memory wore on, the more lost in Jurian’s pain I became. _This is not your pain_ , I thought to myself. _It can’t hurt you_. But it was so like what I had felt when Amarantha was tearing me apart piece by piece. But there was another flash, and in the chaos I could see Rhys’s eyes again, horrified, furious, and determined. Rooting for me. For Jurian. “ _Kill her_!” he roared.

That. The sound of his voice. It broke the chains of the illusion, giving me a fraction of space in my own mind to grapple against the wild walls of Jurian mind. There--a tiny crack.

And I was free.

I thrashed about, screaming, as my mind returned to my own body, but no sound even escaped my body. Whether it was my shadows silencing me or whether I was too terrified to even make a sound was unclear.

The pain hadn’t gone away.

“Feyre! _FEYRE_!” Lucien barked, grabbing me by the shoulders and pinning me down. His palm met my cheek and the flash of pain--real pain--helped snap me back. I opened my eyes and ripped away from him before vomiting in the shadowy brush. I shook so badly when I had emptied my stomach that I couldn’t even lift my head.

“What the hell happened?” Lucien demanded.

“Home. Now.”

Lucien didn’t hesitate before winnowing us as far as he could in one jump. Bit by bit, he took us back to Tamlin’s manor. At the gates, he lifted me into his arms and carried me straight up to my rooms where Alis look at me with wide eyes and hurried to get me in the bath.

I could hardly tell up from down. My head swam with images and echoes of pain, pain that had felt so real it was like Amarantha was breaking my bones all over again. The shaking had diminished, but the warm bath helped ease the lingering chaos in my body and bring me back.

Alis had left me alone to soak, and I turned my head as there was a clatter on the windowsill beside me.

A scrap of paper. And a Night Court pen.

I dried my hands with a nearby towel and unfolded the parchment.

 _Do you want to tell me what the_ hell _that was?_

It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. I would know the handwriting anywhere.

I wrote back, _Jurian’s mind is not a fun place to be_. The parchment vanished.

_Jurian? JURIAN? Are you utterly insane?_

_No, but I think he might be._

It took longer for the parchment to appear this time. _Do you have any idea how panicked I was?_

I scrawled back, _The fact that you’re writing me notes when I distinctly told you not to says a lot._

_It should. Feyre, you could have become trapped in there. Did you even think about what he could do to you if that happened?_

I hadn’t, but I knew now. The chaos and pain that I had experienced there had told me enough. _I didn’t think he was daemati_ , I wrote back.

 _We don’t know what he is_ , Rhys responded. _Please, please don’t take such a risk again. Even I wouldn’t have done that, and I’ve been honing my skills for years._

_I hoped I would find something useful in there._

A pause before he responded, _Did you?_

Writing back _No_ was difficult. Then I added, _Are you angry with me?_

An excruciatingly long two minutes followed. _Yes. But only because I could not have saved you. You’re on your own, and even though I know you can handle yourself, I’m always afraid you’ll encounter something that even you aren’t prepared to face, and I can’t be there to help you. Please, save the epic heroics for when I can at least be nearby for backup._

 _I promise_. Wanting to make it up in some way to him, I wrote, _I’m in the bathtub. Naked._

A startled tug on the bond, followed by a note. _Do you usually bathe with your clothes on?_

I laughed. _Remember when we bathed together?_

_Fondly._

_I’m thinking about that impressive wingspan_ , I teased. _This bathtub isn’t even big enough for it._

_I’ve always known the Spring Court couldn’t handle me. The question is, Feyre darling, can you?_

_Quite easily, if I recall._

A warm pulse beat down our bond and I stroked it with my mind, my blood warming at the memories of him, his body, his kisses. My hand dipped into the water between my legs, and I began to stroke in time with the vibrations running down our bond.

Then Alis walked in.

I gritted my teeth and casually raised my hand to a more appropriate position, but before Alis got too close, I scrawled, _Company. Burn this_. The parchment vanished and I looked up at Alis.

“Are you going to tell me what mess you got yourself in this time?” Alis clucked.

I smiled guiltily. “Not one I plan to get into again.”

“Good. Lord Tamlin will be furious.”

“Alis, you don’t have to tell him,” I said, unable to hide the fear in my voice.

The tree bark-skinned faerie looked at my sympathetically. “I won’t, but no promises about anyone else who saw you come in half-dead.”

“Was it really that bad?” I asked.

“As far as they’re concerned.”

My stomach twisted and I put my wet hand on my forehead. “Lucien . . .”

“Yes, Lucien. You really ought to think about others before you go and get yourself into trouble,” Alis clucked. Her face grew hard as she fixed her gaze on me. “Life was not easy from him while you were gone. I know you didn’t mean to leave, but he . . . well, he’s the closest to the High Lord.”

 _You don’t understand the mess we’re in_ , Lucien had said to me in the forest. Until now, I had thought that he meant Hybern, Ianthe, all the rest, but . . . what if there had been a silent plea in there as well? _We--_ I _need you home_.

My stomach turned again and I didn’t think I would be able to keep a meal down any time soon. Lucien--what had been happening to Lucien here?

I made up my mind that moment that I would do whatever it took to keep him from being harmed. I had essentially asked him to join my court as it was. That made him my responsibility. So whatever Tamlin would try to do to him for my stupid decision . . . well, it wasn’t going to happen.

I allowed Alis to finish cleaning and dressing me, and I sent a quick note to Lucien to tell him that I would explain everything the next morning. And that I wanted to talk.


	8. Chapter 8

 

**CHAPTER EIGHT - RHYSAND**

I stood before the entrance to the Court of Nightmares, steeling myself. Feyre didn’t know this, but her little adventure the night before--the utter chaos that had rippled down our bond--had terrified me. It had unsettled me so much that I almost didn’t trust my own ability to keep the mask I needed to when facing down Keir. I had Mor at my side, as always, but I longed for my High Lady. True, it had been fairly close to a disaster the last time she was here. Nevertheless, the longer I spent away from her the more I realized how much I relied on her.

More than that, I had hoped that the next time I came to the Court of Nightmares, I would be able to introduce her as their High Lady, to see them all quake and fear her, never daring to call her whore again. She would be radiant. My queen.

Hopefully, this would be a quick trip. All I needed was to scare the shit out of Keir long enough to secure an invitation to the Autumn Court for us. Beron was still fond of him--both of them scorned by Mor’s betrayal. With the right techniques, it shouldn’t take long at all for Keir to get us where we needed to be.

But first, the show.

Mor, dressed in resplendent red, looking like walking fire, went in so she could prepare everyone for my arrival. I waited the amount of time we agreed, released the damper on my power, and entered my court.

It was an act. I knew it was this honed mask that compelled them to fear me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the way they trembled. I couldn’t remember if I had enjoyed it before Amarantha, or if perhaps spending fifty years her slave had distilled and refined the dark pleasure in me. Decades spent on my knees, and these people would never know. Yet they feared me. _I_ was the power in this place, and in some dark way it cloaked the ache of injustice that still lingered under my skin.

Most of the people in the court had such weak minds that it was easy to taste their fear, their trembling, at the force of my power. It had taken time, when I had first inherited the power, to adjust to the enormity of it. Despite the fact that I had learned to wield it, I still struggled with the question of _why_. Why was I the most powerful High Lord in history? Why had the power chosen me? I had trained, struggled, _earned_ other things in my life, but so had Azriel. Cassian. Mor. Was it really just an accident of birth that had made me this way?

The first several decades of being High Lord had been a difficult transition--learning how to cope with the power with almost no support system. I knew my mother could have helped me, if she’d still been alive. Likely by kicking my ass in the Illyrian Steppes, but still. Even Cassian and Azriel hadn’t known what to do with me at first.

It had been Amren--Amren, of all people--who had helped me figure it out. She, like me, was a force of nature confined to a body that did not seem big enough to contain it. Feyre had wondered why I bought Amren jewelry, why she had earned a place in my Inner Circle. It was for that--for helping me tether myself to who I knew I was, for teaching me how to keep the power from overwhelming me. No one knew just how much Amren had helped me. That was why I was determined to let her have the Book of Breathings as long as she needed it. For all she had done for me, it was the least she deserved.

I sank onto my throne, looking lazily over the people assembled for their usual disgusting revelry. These people dared to think themselves so superior, when they were but animals compared to the citizens of Velaris. I let them grovel for a few moments while I allowed myself to imagine Feyre’s grand entrance as High Lady--seeing her walk through the throne room, clothed in sensual, swirling black, a crown of stars like mine on her head. I was already picturing how I would rearrange the dais to make room for two thrones--and delighted at how outraged it would make Keir and the rest of them.

One day. One day we would rule together.

“Rise,” I said at last, my voice a careful blend of boredom and disdain. “Carry on.”

I let them dither for a few minutes before summoning Keir, who gave me his usual boring reports about people I didn’t care about and places that I never went. It was harder to bear without Feyre here, the easy distraction of my lips on her delicious skin. Oh, she’d had me writhing last night--and from a continent away.

Less than a week.

“Very well, Keir,” I said dismissively when he seemed to run out of steam.

“Is there anything else you require, my lord?” he asked. I noticed how he angled his body away ever so slightly, hiding the arm that had now healed though likely still ached. I would crush it again in a heartbeat.

“Yes,” I said, and Keir visibly stiffened. “I need you to contact your loathsome friends in the Autumn Court and secure permission for me and three guests to pay them a little visit. Immediately.”

“Which three guests, my lord?” Keir asked.

“That is _my_ concern, not yours,” I said.

“I cannot guarantee how soon I’ll hear--”

I immediately scratched the edges of his mind with my mental claws and his knees went weak. “I need that invitation by the day after tomorrow, Keir. Unless you want your other arm broken.”

Keir’s face was a delightful blend of fear, anguish, and disgust. “Yes, my lord.”

“I don’t see why you’re still standing here.”

Keir scurried off, and I glanced at Mor to see the flicker of delight in her eyes as I made her vile father my dog.

I watched the activity in the ballroom for a while, not really seeing any of it. I stayed as long as I needed to and then left the Court of Nightmares to its own designs.

Before returning home, I paid a visit to Feyre’s sisters, adjusting my glamour to be as simple as possible. I wouldn’t admit that it unsettled me that she could see through my glamour at any time if she pleased. I kept it hidden for a reason. Feyre was the only person who had ever seen all of me, and I would prefer that it stayed that way. Nesta didn’t seem at all inclined to explore her talents in that way, but if she ever did . . . no one would ever be able to deceive her.

“Good evening, Nesta, Elain,” I said as Elain opened the door to me. “Are your new quarters suitable?” They had been given a townhome up the road from my own, far enough that they had privacy but near enough that any of my Inner Circle could monitor them with being right on top of them.

“Better than that cabin,” Nesta said. I knew that she was never outright positive, but her contrariness was still irritating. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said with a grateful nod. I took a seat with them in their den, Nesta sitting imperiously in the larger armchair while Elain perched on the couch across from me. I looked thoughtfully at her. While Nesta was unfathomable for obvious reasons--a dichotomy in itself--Elain was another matter entirely. It wasn’t only because I could sense her thoughts and feelings that I believed that there was far more to her than met the eye. Perhaps Nesta’s overbearing personality and propensity to shelter her sister was hiding Elain’s true potential, whatever that might be.

“Stop looking at her like that,” Nesta snapped.

I slid my gaze to her. “Like what?”

“Like you’re planning to make a weapon out of her.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I was planning no such thing. I simply don’t know your sister as well as you. I wonder what she’s capable of.”

“What she is or isn’t doesn’t affect you,” Nesta said firmly.

“On the contrary, Nesta, your sister might affect a great number of things, not the least of which being that Lucien has identified her as his mate. And Lucien is currently Feyre’s only ally in the Spring Court.”

“Would the two of you please stop speaking about me like I’m not here?” Elain protested, and the flash of anger I read in her startled me.

I bowed my head. “My apologies, Elain. That was unforgivable of me.” I would never have spoken of Feyre like that. I allowed Nesta to distract me. It was her technique, I realized--force others to speak with her, look at her, and draw attention away from Elain. To protect her.

I hated to be the one to tell them that it wouldn’t do them any good anymore.

“I came to give you some advice that you might find useful now that you are in Prythian,” I said, directing my words at Elain. “I believe Mor has spoken with you in more detail about daemati and what they can do. There’s a simple strategy that can help prevent other daemati from accessing your mind. I taught Feyre, and I would consider it an honor to help you as well.”

Before Nesta could retort one way or another, Elain chirped, “Yes. Please. I don’t . . . I don’t want anyone in my head.”

Nesta did not say a word.

I spent the evening giving them rudimentary lessons on building mental walls, and Nesta, unsurprisingly, took to it immediately, since she already had them in place and it was only a matter of making her aware of them and putting her in control of them. Elain, open-hearted as she was, struggled more, but even she surprised me with her ability to successfully put up walls twice before the night was out. Eventually, she dismissed herself to rest, and Nesta and I were left alone in the den.

“I should receive word within two days about our trip to the Autumn Court,” I told her.

“What am I to expect there?” Nesta asked. “Mor seemed to think I would be well-suited to it.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “She means that you’ll be able to handle yourself, which was never a doubt in my mind,” I said. “The Autumn Court is . . . brutal. I wouldn’t even use the word _vicious_ , because that implies some kind of style. The Autumn Court is far more of an ‘eat or be eaten’ environment.”

“Isn’t that Lucien from the Autumn Court?” Nesta asked, and I wondered who had mentioned it to her.

“He was born there, and you’ll meet his family.” I hesitated before deciding that I wanted to exonerate Lucien in advance. Why I was suddenly so defensive of him was a mystery to me--perhaps it was because was there for Feyre when I couldn’t be. “He loved a lesser faerie and was considered a disgrace. His family murdered her in front of his eyes and forced him to watch. He fled to the Spring Court and has lived there as its emissary since.”

“His family _murdered_ the last woman he loved?” Nesta asked, her jaw set in fury. “And he thinks I’d let that sort of thing anywhere _near_ my sister?”

I sighed. “Nesta, forgive my frankness, but you are not in the mortal realm anymore. You and your sisters are Made--that does not happen often. More than that, you were Made by the Cauldron itself. Whatever potential is in you will be of great interest to many people, not all of whom are good. The techniques you’ve used to protect your sister until now will not work as well, if at all. She needs to learn to defend herself and learn to face the darker sides of the world.”

Nesta’s face was stone, but I could feel the turmoil rolling off of her despite her admirable shields. “I have protected her from the dark side of the world her entire life. She can’t handle it.”

“She can,” I said, “and she will. Believe me, I am not about to throw her to the wolves. She will be protected here as long as necessary. But she can’t stay hidden in Velaris for eternity. I think she would hate that, and I don’t know her nearly as well as you.” I remembered her talking about wanting to travel, visit the continent--she would not be content in Velaris forever, no matter how wonderful it was.

“The Autumn Court,” Nesta said, crossing her arms over her chest, a signal to return to the previous topic. Unwavering.

I sighed and acquiesced. “Mor’s presence there will cause a stir. She has a history with them, but you and she will shield each other. Believe me, Lord Beron will be very interested in you, but he’ll know that you’re under my protection and Mor’s. The two of us could reduce his court to rubble in a night if we wanted, so he will not try to harm you.

“Our goal is to get near enough to the border of the Spring Court to get over the boundary on Calanmai. Mor has already told you what you can do. Intrigue Beron and Eris. Let them try to gain influence over you. Ask to view their territory. I have full confidence that you’ll find exactly the right way to have them offering you whatever you want on a silver platter.”

“A peculiar thing to think,” Nesta said, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody has ever liked me.” She didn’t have to say, _and I like it that way_.

“That’s what will intrigue them. They will see in you what they believe to be a kindred spirit. And daemati or no, you remain one of the most insightful people I’ve ever met.”

Nesta pursed her lips, trying not to be pleased by the compliment.

“Eris, the eldest, might try to win you, just for the challenge,” I warned.

A wicked look flashed in Nesta’s eyes. “Then he’ll have to watch out for his manhood.”

“Oh?”

Nesta smirked and stood, signaling the end of the conversation for the night. “Ask your injured commander.”

Amusement whirled through me and I treasured the information to wield against Cassian later. That explained his reactions to her and his attitude whenever she came near. How perfect. “I’ll send word the moment our invitation arrives,” I said as she led to me to the door.

“Oddly enough,” she said from the other side of the threshold as I walked out, “I’m looking forward to it.”


	9. Chapter 9

 

**CHAPTER NINE**

I had forgotten how tightly around his finger Tamlin had the entire Spring Court. How willing they were to bow and scrape because of the fear of the golden, shattering anger.

I slept until midday the follow day, too exhausted to even have any nightmares--a curse in disguise, since I knew that I would be seeing Jurian’s mind in my sleep for a long time. I rose, dressed, and went down to the dining room to eat in privacy. As I was passing by the study, I heard Tamlin’s voice.

“Feyre.”

Not a request. Not a greeting. An order.

My hackles rose in disgust, but I plastered on my mask and turned into the study. He was standing at the window, appearing to survey the grounds, but I knew that all his senses were locked on me. “Tamlin, you’re back,” I said, sounding relieved. “I didn’t expect you for another day or two.”

“What did you do.”

Not even a question, not really. No sign of the High Lord who had once put off all of his other duties just to spend time with me. The man in front of me was as good as a stranger, and my heart stung. I had loved him once.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Lucien, what did you let her do?” Tamlin asked, not even looking over his shoulder. I glanced to the other side of the room and saw Lucien there, his head down. The sting in my heart fanned into a flame.

“He didn’t _let_ me do anything,” I said.

A growl ripped from Tamlin’s throat and Lucien cringed. I did not. “What. Happened.”

“My nightmares woke me up and I went to get some fresh air. I bumped into some nasty lesser faeries at the edge of the wood.”

“What kind of faeries?” Tamlin finally turned to look at me.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why should I tell you? You never tell me what _you’re_ doing.”

Tamlin snarled, but still I did not cringe. “Feyre, this _again_? Can’t you trust that I’m telling you all you need to know?”

“Why can’t you let me _choose_ what I need to know?” I demanded. “We tried the whole docile lady approach. Believe me, I _tried_ to do it because I thought that would make you happy. But it didn’t work. So let me in. I’m not your mother, not willing to just stand by while you handle _everything_. So please, don’t be like your father, either.” How I managed to make that come out as thought I was just a lovesick maiden was beyond me. I couldn’t reveal all that I knew about him, what he’d done to Rhysand’s family. I couldn’t beg him not to become a tyrant, because he didn’t know that I thought him capable of that. As far as he was concerned, he was the prince, the hero of his own story. That was what Rhys had said, and he was right. I couldn’t reveal any of what I knew.

But I had inadvertently revealed something, because Tamlin’s eyes snapped to Lucien, the gold in his eyes flashing and the claws peeking out of his hands. “What did you say to her?”

“Tamlin--what are you talking about?” I asked.

“Lucien!”

Lucien stepped back, seeming small in the face of his High Lord. It was . . . so sad.

“Tamlin . . .” I breathed, looking back at him. “What did you _do_ while I was gone?”

The rage rippled off him, and he did not look at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” I pressed. “Look at Lucien! What did you do to make him look at you like that?” The fire was building in me, my fingers heating, the flames pulsing through my blood.

“Feyre,” Lucien murmured. “Let it go.”

“No!” I snapped. “I refuse! The Tamlin I fell in love with didn’t _hurt_ people like this! What’s happened to you?”

By the Mother, I knew this was dangerous. I was treading on glass, and a wrong step would cause it to shatter beneath me. But I couldn’t stop myself.

“ _Hurt_?” Tamlin seethed. “I’m only trying to clean up the mess that _you_ made, Feyre!”

“Me? What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“I only went to Hybern in the first place to free you from that idiotic bargain you made with Rhysand,” he spat. “You knew it was dangerous to make bargains with people like him, and you did it anyway!”

“I was _dying_ , Tamlin! Much longer, and the festering shit in my arm would have killed me and you would still be stuck in Amarantha’s clutches. It wasn’t like _you_ were going to do anything about it!”

“Feyre, I _couldn’t_! Do you understand what she would have done to you if I tried to help you? If I showed her how much it killed me to see you struggling?”

“Yes, I do,” I snapped, “because she did it to me anyway.” Tamlin fumed in silence, and I continued quietly, “You had a chance to get me out. And you didn’t.”

There it was. The same thing Rhysand had hated Tamlin for down there--the realization that Tamlin wasn’t fighting for me the way I had fought for him.

Tamlin’s claws were in full view now, but I did not fear them. “Feyre,” he said.

My throat was tight, but I said, “I ripped myself apart for you. I killed innocent people for you, and that’s a stain I’ll never be rid of. I know it probably never occurred to you, since you’ve stood by as people killed innocents before--”

“What?” Tamlin cut me off with a hiss. “What did you say?”

Finally, I whipped around and jabbed a finger at the two pairs of wings mounted over the door. “You stood by,” I said. “You stood by, like you always have, while your family murdered an innocent woman and her daughter.”

Tamlin went deathly still. And I knew this dance.

“What other lies did he tell you there, Feyre?” Tamlin hissed. “I’m sure he didn’t mention that he and his father came and killed _my_ family? My mother?”

“He did tell me that, actually. Your mother wasn’t supposed to die.”

“ _You’re defending him_!” Tamlin demanded. “After what he did to you? To us?” His nostrils flared, and then suddenly, his eyes went wide.

And he realized what had been hiding in plain sight the whole time. Rhys’s scent--still on me, still lingering, more than a week since I’d seen him. Laced with mine, twined with mine. _Our_ scent.

“You . . .” Tamlin sputtered. “He . . .”

“Yes,” I spat. “Still mates. Still bonded. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Tamlin’s face became deadly. More lethal than I had ever seen it. And for the first time, I was afraid. “Yes there is. I could kill him. That would make Jurian happy, at least.”

“Tamlin!” Lucien cried in horror. Tamlin ignored him.

I stared at Tamlin in silence, stony determination on my face. He wanted to shake me, wanted me to plead with him not to. I refused, even though the thought of Rhysand dead filled me with such deep, unending dread that I couldn’t even touch it without drowning. “And you would be satisfied with a broken lady the rest of eternity?” I asked. Tamlin blinked. “Of course. You were happy with a broken lady after Amarantha. When I was barely a skeleton walking around. Tamlin, you didn’t even notice that I was _literally_ dying. And just to have me, you would shatter me by _killing my mate_? Does that sound like love to you?”

“Dead or not, I can promise that you’re never seeing him again,” Tamlin threatened. “He’s poisoned your mind, Feyre! Can’t you see that? He’s changed you into someone completely different! I don’t know you anymore!”

“Oh, he’s changed me, for certain,” I said. “He saved me, Tamlin, like you did once. Only instead of making me depend on him, cling to him for safety and security, he helped me find who I really am. Who I was always meant to be.”

“He made you his whore!” Tamlin spat.

Rage. Blind rage. And in that moment, I knew what Rhysand had felt when Keir had spit that word at me in the Court of Nightmares. I could have shattered the room like Tamlin once had; could have destroyed everything in sight at the injustice of it. It had meant nothing coming from Keir’s lips, but Tamlin . . . To hear the man I had once loved called me a whore, speak of me as though who I was made me unworthy, shameful. I could barely breathe through the rage. Though I could have wreaked havoc on that room and the whole manor, I didn’t, because Lucien was still standing there, and I did not want him to have to choose between two tyrants to serve. He deserved better than that. I would be better.

So, heart pounding, I finally dropped my glamour so that Tamlin could see me in all my glory. Wings, tattoo, shadows . . . fangs.

Well, those were new.

“Do _not_ call me a whore,” I spat, spreading my wings out behind me. They stretched almost the full length of the room, and I basked in Tamlin’s horror as he saw me-- _really saw me_ \--for the first time.

His eyes flicked to my tattoo. “You--you’re--”

“‘No such thing as a High Lady,’ I believe you said?” I taunted with a smirk, raising my arm to display it. I glanced at Lucien, who watched us from behind my shield, his good eye bright with fear--and also pride.

“Impossible,” Tamlin breathed.

“In your world, maybe,” I said. “But in the Court of Dreams . . . anything is possible.”

Tamlin’s pulsing fury returned. “You betrayed me! You’re a traitor! You--” And, before I could say anything else, he pounced at me, claws out, preparing to transform--

\--until he froze, eyes blank, as I seized his mind.

It was so easy. So pathetically easy to slip past his walls and claim control. I made myself the warm spring air, the sweet scent of flowers, the defensive thorns on the roses. _Stop. Calm,_  I said.

The beast in him growled. Then purred.

I took a deep breath before I dared order, _Forget_.

I reigned in my essence, my power, restored my glamour. I fed Tamlin messages of calmness, peace, love. _Forget. Except in your dreams, where I want you to remember. Then, when I say the time is right, I want you to remember all of this_.

Then, when my glamour was fixed in place, I released him.

Tamlin straightened, the ire and wildness in his eyes completely gone. “Feyre,” he said, as though I had only just arrived. “How are you?”

Words I’d fed him. The greeting he should have been able to offer me himself.

“Glad you’re home,” I lied smoothly. “I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help with the preparations for Calanmai.”

Tamlin smiled, and my heart was crushed at the falseness of it. Not because of him, but because of me. “No, Feyre, everyone is familiar with the preparations by now.” He paused and tilted his head. “Actually . . .”

“Yes?” I asked. This was not something I had planted in him.

“Ianthe would still like to try and make things up to you. She was wondering if you would like to see the new temple.”

I hid my surprise with a sweet smile. “I would love that,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to see it.” Not true, exactly, but true now. Who knew what I could find there?

“She’s put a lot of work into it,” Tamlin said. “Thank you for . . . for wanting to go.”

“I need to put in some effort, too,” I said. My whole mind was clanging with dissonance--the conversation, the fight that had been about to happen, contrasted with the mild, innocent discussion happening now. Lucien looked a bit sick, too.

“Lucien, would you like to walk in the gardens with me?” I asked. “I’m sure Tamlin has a lot to work through after just returning. Have Ianthe find us there.”

Lucien nodded mutely and offered me his arm.

“I’ll see you later,” Tamlin said.

I nodded and gave a small close-lipped smile, before turning to walk with Lucien away from the High Lord of Spring.

\--

I sat on a stone bench in the rose garden, arms wrapped around my waist, bent over. Through my peripheral vision I could see Lucien stalking back and forth. “What _was_ that, Feyre? What did you do to him?”

“Part of the gifts I got from Rhysand when I was Made,” I said weakly. “Cauldron boil me, that was awful.”

“Which part?” Lucien said sarcastically. “The argument, or the mind control?”

“All of it,” I said, “but especially the mind control.”

Lucien blinked. It clearly wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. He stopped in front of me and traced one of his fingers along the rose petals behind him. “My money would have been on you,” he said. I looked up at him as he sighed. “Feyre . . . I’ve been a terrible friend. I . . . when I saw him about to hurt you, and I couldn’t do anything . . .” He shook his head and I swear I saw a tear forming at the corner of his eye.

“Lucien,” I began to say, but he continued.

“Everything you said about him was right. He doesn’t fight. He stands by. For fifty years he stood by while the clock ticked away on us all. He sat and watched you Under the Mountain . . . he watched you wither afterwards. Feyre, I’m so sorry I didn’t stop it.”

“Lucien, stop apologizing,” I said, sitting upright with some difficulty. My limbs still shook with adrenaline. “I don’t blame you.”

His gaze flicked to me. “You don’t?”

“Not anymore. I think I did for a little while, if I’m being honest. But that was my problem. You . . . you’ve been through as much as me, if not more. _You_ fought for me Under the Mountain, even when it cost you. I never thanked you for that, not properly. Lucien, you deserve to be treated better than this.”

Actual tears slipped out of his good eye now, even though he was struggling so hard to keep his composure. “So do you, Feyre. When he . . . when he threatened to kill your mate--all I could think was that I was suddenly looking at my brothers, not my friend, and I have no idea who he is anymore.”

“I loved him,” I said, “but you’ve known him longer.”

“I owe him,” Lucien whispered.

“No,” I said, finally rising to my feet. “No, you don’t. You’ve paid back whatever debt you think you owed him a thousand times over by now. And no friendship should be based on debt.”

“The hand of love should not be forced by a curse.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That was oddly poetic of you.”

Lucien cracked a grin, though his tears still shone on his cheek. “I have my moments.”

“Lucien, join my court,” I urged. There. The words finally out in the open. I had expressed the sentiment before, but now it was a formal offer. “I’m offering you a clean slate--a chance to escape. To be free. Free from the past and your burdens. Come to my family.”

“Family?” Lucien asked, his voice hoarse.

My heart beat slow and steady as I made my decision. “Let me show you.” I stretched out my hand, and Lucien looked at it hesitantly.

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

I laughed. “No. I promise.”

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he took my hand. And that wave of auburn-colored guilt, shame, pain, hopelessness--it hit me just as hard as the first time, as when it had been an accident. But I peeled back the weak tree-bark shields around his mind and slipped in, standing just on the other side of the threshold. From there, I sent him images. Memories.

Cassian and Azriel drinking on the balcony of the townhome, the lights of Velaris glinting in the background. Everyone at Rita’s, laughing and teasing while Amren cheered on a sporting match outside. Sparring practice, everyone intimately aware of the others’ limits, respecting them, challenging them. And then my favorite memory--Starfall. Cassian, Azriel, and Mor, dancing together like they might not see tomorrow, and me in Rhys’s arms, dancing slow and smiling--the first real smiles I’d made since before leaving Tamlin.

Satisfied that this would be enough, I stepped out of Lucien’s mind, drawing back into myself. When I paid attention to my own senses again, I realized that tears were trickling from my eyes now, and I wiped them away.

Lucien’s face was stunned, his golden eye whirring to take in all the details of my face, as though looking for some kind of deceit. “That’s the Night Court?” he asked.

“Just my Inner Circle,” I said. I hadn’t shown him much of Velaris or the secrets that had been well-guarded for millennia. He wouldn’t see those until he was truly one of us. “My family.”

“I haven’t seen anything like that in . . . centuries,” Lucien murmured. “You really--you really want me to be a part of that?”

I wanted to say something, but my throat closed up with feeling. So I just nodded and put my hand on his arm.

Lucien shook his head just slightly, and the warmth drained from me. “I swore fealty to Tamlin. I . . . I want to, Feyre, more than anything. I want to accept your offer. But I can’t accept at this moment. I’d have to . . . I’d have to commit treason for my bond to Tamlin to be broken.”

“Oh,” I murmured, my enthusiasm dribbling away.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and my eyes snapped back to him. “Believe me, I will. But you know me, Feyre. If I’m going to do something, it’s going to be in style. Helping you on Calanmai . . . I think that will do just the trick.” He winked at me.

Delight flickered in my blood. “You’re not hoping to steal my thunder, are you?”

“I couldn’t manage it even if I tried,” Lucien said smoothly. “But tell me. What do you need from me?”

I met his gaze fully and grinned. “I have a few ideas.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

**CHAPTER TEN - Rhysand**

For once, Keir did not let me down. The invitation to the Autumn Court was in my foyer bright and early two mornings after I had requested it. I smirked as I fingered the parchment, which smelled of crisp, dying leaves. Threats were crass, it was true, but they certainly did garner results.

I had spent the previous day going over Azriel’s information about the Autumn Court, and our strategy was so thoroughly prepared that I was barely nervous. There was an element of unpredictability whenever I entered the Autumn Court, and those variables irritated me, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle, especially with Mor and Azriel at my side. Azriel was still weak, but when he’d heard that Mor was going . . . even I had not dared to deny him permission to come along. Besides, his spy network would be useful. Knowing our way around the court was critical, and Azriel’s ability to make anyone nervous was a benefit.

Cassian, however, was even more upset when he’d heard that Azriel was being allowed to go despite his recent injury. He did his best to keep his feelings to himself, though I felt them rolling off his body.

Invitation in hand, I was about to leave the townhome when Cassian murmured. “I really can’t come?”

I thought about ignoring him, but I stopped in the doorway. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know,” Cassian said, his voice resigned. “Do you have to take Nesta.” He bit off the end of his sentence as though holding in a plea.

“She can handle it. And she would maim you for suggesting she couldn’t.”

“She was Made less than two weeks ago!”

“She can handle it,” I repeated.

Cassian shivered and cringed as his spread wings were jostled with the motion. I remembered what that was like from the weeks after being held prisoner by Amarantha during the War. I sympathized, but I still refused to coddle. “I’ll kill anyone who touches her,” Cassian breathed.

I stiffened. There was such a deadly promise in that one so deep and familiar. I wondered . . .

No. I couldn’t broach that subject now.

I left and went to the sisters’ townhome, where Nesta, Mor, and Azriel were waiting. I took Nesta by the arm and we winnowed to Orielle, the center of the Autumn Court.

The minute we touched down, Nesta shoved away from me, looking nauseous. “I am never doing that again!” she gasped.

I grinned. “I think you’ll find the convenience a little hard to resist, Nesta,” I drawled. “Welcome to Orielle.”

We stood at the entrance of a long avenue of ancient trees, all of which had leaves in various shades of red, gold, and orange. It was like stepping into a firedrake’s hoard. The crisp scents of autumn--apple, torchwood, hops--wafted through the air. At the other end of the avenue was an enormous cedar palace with gold paneling and intricate carvings of trees and fae.

We strolled up the avenue, dressed for the occasion. I was in my usual black, while Mor was in a burnt orange robe with bell sleeves and a flowing skirt. Unlike the Court of Nightmares, Autumn Court necklines were modest, though the cut was designed to still draw attention to a woman’s shape. A gold, beaded belt cinched the robe around her trim waist. Mor had always had a knack for knowing the fashions of every court, and she had taken it upon herself to dress Nesta in perfect style. Nesta wore a robe of shimmering gold that showed off her admirable neck and collarbones, which were adorned with a necklace of copper leaves. Similar copper bracelets clinked at her slender wrists. Her brassy brown hair, the same shade as Feyre’s, was piled upon her head with gold pins. Her new pointed ears were in full view, adorned with copper leaf earrings.

At the end of the avenue, the High Lord of Autumn and his family waited on the steps to the palace. Beron was a notably mediocre figure, average height with no striking facial features. His three sons standing on the step behind him, however, all looked like brutes. I recognized them all from Under the Mountain, and not one was a welcome sight.

The Lady of the Autumn Court, Hermia, was the parent from whom Lucien had received his burnt-red hair and good looks. She was silent, but calculating and bold. I remembered threatening Lucien with harming her when I had visited the Spring Court after last year’s Summer Solstice, but truthfully I would never have done it. Hermia was the one good thing about the Autumn Court, and I knew how she had helped Feyre Under the Mountain. She was the person here whom I believed would be the most help to us--if I could get her away from her husband long enough to speak with her.

“Lord Rhysand,” Beron said with a nod.

“Lord Beron, Lady Hermia,” I said, returning the gesture. My eyes flicked to the sons. “Eris. Phelan. Brennan.”

Lord Beron looked at the rest of my party, feigning neutrality even though I could feel the disgust rolling off of him as he took in Mor and Az. A spark of curiosity came as he examined Nesta. “Who might your guest be?” he asked.

“This is Nesta Viatrix, a young member of my court,” I said, the lie well-rehearsed. “She has been quite sheltered by her family, who have requested that I take her out to see some of the world before she weds.”

“At least her family knows how to keep their bitches on leashes,” Eris sneered.

Azriel’s anger spiked, but he wisely remained a stone. Nesta stiffened, but followed Az’s example. Mor stared coolly back at Eris before glancing at Hermia. “A woman is not a dog,” she said.

Hermia’s face remained impassive, but I sensed her reluctant approval.

“Manners, Eris,” I clucked, my eyes sliding back to the eldest son.

“We are thrilled you have decided to join us for Calanmai,” Lord Beron said. “We have great festivities planned. The Great Rite should be bountiful this year.” He took his wife’s left hand in his, and her fingers glinted in the early sun. At first I thought the light had caught her rings, but then I realized . . . three fingers on her left hand were made entirely of gold, leaving only her pointer and thumb natural. The gold fingers were magically fused to her hand, but . . . my stomach soured.

She hadn’t been like that the last time I’d seen her.

“We have rooms prepared for you,” Lord Beron said. “Feel free to get comfortable and then join us for a feast in your honor. We have some new stout that I would love to have you sample.”

I smiled with closed lips. I wasn’t particularly fond of stout, but I had heard that the Autumn Court’s ale was unrivalled by any other court. I offered Nesta my arm and began to escort her up the steps after the Lord and Lady. As we reached the top of the steps, Eris placed a hand on Nesta’s other arm. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Nesta,” he drawled, and he made no effort to disguise the hungry gaze that grazed up and down her body.

“That remains to be seen,” Nesta said smoothly, her eyes flicking away from Eris dismissively. I suppressed a smirk at the look of surprise on Eris’s face as Nesta so easily rebuffed him. I squeezed her arm in approval and I saw her eyes flash with pride. I turned my head just slightly to see Mor offer Eris a radiant, defiant smile, and his face soured even more.

We took a few minutes to settle in our chambers--wood-paneled rooms with large beams crossing the ceiling and a massive stone hearth with a roaring flame inside. Large windows looked out over the forested city of Orielle, which resembled the sea at sunset, leaves shimmering in the breeze. A beautiful exterior for a brutal court.

Mor, Azriel, Nesta, and I met in my quarters in front of the fire. “So, how are your first impressions of the Autumn Court?” I asked Nesta with a wry grin.

“Eris is a pig,” she said without hesitation, crossing her arms over her chest.

I laughed. “Yes, he is. Mor?” I glanced at my Third.

Mor gave a wicked grin. “It’ll be fun getting under his skin. Oh, he _hated_ seeing Azriel.”

“Why?” Nesta asked. She didn’t know the whole story of Mor’s history with the Autumn Court, only that she had once been betrothed to Eris and it had not ended well.

“He knows that Azriel will eviscerate him and doesn’t need much reason to do it. It will help keep him _on a leash_ , as he so succinctly put it.” Mor inspected her fingernails, and though only Azriel and I knew the memories that this place was dredging up within her, I was sure that Nesta didn’t miss the darkness in her lovely eyes.

“Pick up on anything good, Rhys?” Mor asked, lowering her hands.

I shrugged. “Hermia is our angle, like I expected. She has helped Feyre before, and she has personal reasons to help us through the border on Calanmai, if we can promise to check on her son.” I drummed my fingers on my knee. “I’d like to speak with her after dinner if Mor and Nesta can distract Beron and the sons enough to get us some time alone with her.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to Mor’s and she grinned. “Oh, I don’t think that will be any trouble.”

“Shall we, then?”

We descended to the banquet hall of the palace, which had towering, beamed ceilings and stained glass windows that bathed the room in splashes of color. I sucked in a breath. Feyre would have loved this. I could imagine her eyes darting all about, memorizing the colors, the textures, so that she could perfectly reproduce them later. I took in as much as I could--maybe I could share the images with her when we were finally reunited. It wouldn’t be the same as seeing them for herself, but . . . it would be something.

The food of the Autumn Court was hearty--venison, potatoes, rich roasted vegetables and warm bread puddings. I watched Nesta take the first bite, and her eyes widened imperceptibly. I realized that this was the first taste of fine High Fae food she had eaten. I regretted not treating her and Elain before we’d left Velaris. The food they’d been given had been normal Prythian fare, but Nesta had never eaten banquet-quality Fae food. A single flash reached me through her mental shields--the memory of the awkward dinner she’d served us at their home in the mortal realm, when she had accused Feyre of snobbery when the mortal food had not appealed to her. Now, it seemed, she understood why.

I partook of a single pint of stout, which was dark and flavorful, but bitter. It was enough to make me seem like a grateful guest but not enough to addle my senses for the conversation I needed to have after the meal.

Nesta’s coolness earlier seemed not to have deterred Eris, who sat across from her and stared at her as though _she_ were the meal at the table. She pretended not to notice, but I could sense the ire dripping from her. She looked up once to see Eris biting his lip as he traced circles around his pint glass with the tip of his finger. Her cheeks reddened, but she did not say anything, even though I knew she was dying to. She was taking my advice--observing, gaining insight, learning his patterns before taking any action. It was her usual strategy--just more refined.

At last, the meal ended and everyone rose from the table for post-meal distractions. I casually locked eyes with Lady Hermia and then, without looking back, meandered to the balcony just outside the dining hall. I leaned against the wood railing, gazing out over the treetops. Dotted amongst the trees were the spires and roofs of other important buildings in the city, but for the most part it was concealed beneath the canopy. It was part of what kept the city protected--the palace was warded to prevent detection from overhead, and the rest of the city could not be spotted from above, either.

It was several long minutes of waiting in silence before I heard steel-edged banter beginning inside, which told me that Mor had begun antagonizing Eris just as I had expected. She would keep it mild--enough to ensure that his attention was on her and not on his mother. At last, I sensed the cool, cautious presence of the lady step up beside me. She set her hands on the railing, her new gold fingers glinting in the setting sun.

She must have seen my glance, because she said, “Amarantha found out what I did for Feyre Cursebreaker.” I went very still, and she continued, “She had my fingers sliced off one by one with a scalpel. Slowly. She made Beron do it.” I sucked on my teeth, trying to suppress the cold rage that still washed over me whenever I heard of Amarantha evil. She was dead. Dead. She couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.

“He never apologized,” Hermia continued mildly, as though she had never expected him to.

“He gave you the fingers?” I asked.

The corner of Hermia’s mouth lifted. “No, that was Brennan.” The youngest of her sons still living with her. “Why are you here, Rhysand?”

I raised my eyebrows. Direct. Not what I had expected, but I appreciated it. “I’m sure you have your suspicions.”

“I do,” Hermia said, nodding once, her clever mouth solemn. “I believe it has something to do with the fact that Feyre Cursebreaker is back at the Spring Court, after it was well-known that she has been with you for several months, despite the nature of your bargain with her.”

“Keir is quite the gossip,” I said.

Hermia’s lips pulled back as though she was thinking about laughing. “So is Beron.” She finally turned and looked directly at me, her sharp eyes looking me over. “I read your message, Rhysand, when you bargained with her. I saw you fight against Amarantha at the end. And I’m not quite sure how I know it, but I know that you’re the reason my son Lucien is still alive.”

I let out a long exhale and stood straighter, picking a fleck of dust from my sleeve. “Feyre is the reason we’re _all_ alive,” I said. I met her eyes. “What do you know of the King of Hybern’s recent activities?”

Hermia raised a sculpted eyebrow. “What do _you_ know?”

I shrugged. “Fair enough. I believe we both know that war is coming--surely your delightful sons are already excited about that.”

Hermia sucked in a breath, as though she’d known but disliked having it confirmed. “How soon?”

“Days, if Hybern has his way.”

Hermia’s golden-brown eyes widened. She hadn’t known that. She looked back out over the treetops. “Calanmai,” she breathed. “He’s planning something for Calanmai, isn’t he?”

I admired her sharp mind. Lucien had clearly be born with her intelligence. “He’s allied with Tamlin. He’s going to take the magic on Calanmai and use it to destroy the Wall.”

“By the Cauldron,” Hermia hissed.

“Yes, exactly,” I said, and she whipped her head to face me. I nodded solemnly.

Hermia was silent for a long moment. “Feyre Cursebreaker is not there to wed the High Lord of Spring, is she? I spoke with her once, but after what she did Under the Mountain, I know that she would never work with Hybern.”

“Your husband would,” I pointed out.

“I’m well aware of that,” Hermia snapped. Flames lit her eyes, but just as soon as they appeared, they were extinguished. “My son is still in the Spring Court.”

I softened. “Feyre is taking care of him.”

Hermia let out a long breath. “I can’t quite say I understand all the forces at play here, Rhysand, but I know that Feyre has saved Prythian before. And if I read her right, she is not about to let it fall now. I’m not sure where _you_ fall into all of this, but if you are her ally, then you are mine.”

“‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ so they say,” I murmured.

“Indeed.” Hermia pursed her lips. “What do you want me to do for you?”

“I need to be in the Spring Court on Calanmai to support Feyre. The borders are already weakened that night, but Tamlin has put extra strength into his since . . . everything. If you can help us get through, I may be able to get you a moment with Lucien. I know Feyre has already committed herself to his safety, and I can assure you that I will as well.”

Hermia’s face was stony, but her eyes were filled with turmoil. “We’ll have to get Beron very drunk,” she mused.

I laughed. “Is that so hard to do?”

Hermia gave me a look. “I have my own obligations that night, Rhysand. At this moment I cannot promise you anything. Even if I can help at all, which I’m not sure I can, I will only be able to get you in--not out. You’ll have to escape either through Summer or over sea.”

I grimaced. “Summer would be . . . complicated.”

“Ah, yes,” Hermia said. “The blood rubies. I heard about that. Clumsy, clumsy, Rhysand.”

I looked at her in surprise and she smiled at me. A fox’s smile. “Meet with me again tomorrow night and I will tell you if there’s anything I can do. I need time to think on it.” She glanced over her shoulder, where the volume of the banter was rising inside the banquet hall. “You may want to call off your courtiers before Eris tries to burn the palace down again.”

“Again?” I laughed quietly.

Hermia’s face was unreadable as she cradled her golden fingers in her other hand. “I live in a gilded cage, Rhysand. I do not wish the same fate upon Feyre Cursebreaker. For her sake, I will do what I can.”

I nodded humbly. “Thank you.” I turned and drifted back into the banquet hall. I glanced once over my shoulder to see the Lady of Autumn staring out in silence over a sea of golden leaves.


	11. Chapter 11

 

**CHAPTER ELEVEN  
**

Ianthe had gotten caught up in other business that afternoon, so I went to the library inside the manor and began looking for information on Calanmai--specifically the white stag. Though I searched for hours, I came up with very little. It was as though knowledge of what the white stag was passed from High Lord to successor, perhaps with the magic. Surely if anyone else knew something about it, it would be written down somewhere. Unless it was such a closely guarded secret that it was forbidden.

Tamlin found me in the library, and my throat instantly tightened at the memories from earlier that day. “Your reading is coming along,” he said as he looked at the pile of books on the table beside me. “Find anything interesting?”

“No,” I said honestly. His emerald gaze was killing me. All I could see when I looked at him was the fury, the disgust, the rage . . . and then the blankness as I had seized his mind. Two more days. Only two more days of pretending. “Would you like to go for a ride?” I asked him. I wanted to be as far away from him as possible, but I needed to learn something about Calanmai, and it seemed a safe enough topic that he might give me answers, as long as I didn’t reveal what I knew about Hybern’s plans for that night.

“I would love to,” Tamlin said, offering me his arm. I took it, holding back my desire to rip away. His arm was like a vice--strong, powerful, unyielding. There was no balance in the way he conducted himself with me. Tamlin’s world centered around Tamlin and included no one else. Those he surrounded himself with were those who were useful to him. The worst part was that he didn’t have any other way of being.

Suddenly, I found myself thinking of Andras. The faerie I had killed. Had he volunteered to cross the border because he was tired of Tamlin’s inaction? How would Andras have reacted to who his High Lord had become? A strange mourning that I’d never felt for Andras swept through me. I’d regretted killing him--I was sorry for taking him away from his home. But for the first time, I regretted never knowing him.

Tamlin and I didn’t speak about anything significant as we walked to the stables--just exchanged meaningless pleasantries. He asked about what I was painting, about how I had occupied myself while he was gone. The argument in the study this morning had never happened, in his mind. His complete ignorance of it was enough to make me feel slightly insane, as though I had imagined it all.

My hand was just starting to feel clammy around Tamlin’s arm as we reached the stables and I let him go. We mounted our horses and took the neatly manicured paths lined with hedges to the edges of the estate, where I could see the rolling grassy meadows. We rode out into them, and I could see the massive piles of wood being prepared for the bonfires of Calanmai.

“I’m still not sure I entirely understand Calanmai,” I said mildly as the breeze rustled my hair. “It was all a bit dizzying last year.” For many reasons.

“I didn’t explain it well,” Tamlin confessed. “I was worried that you wouldn’t understand, as a human.”

“I’d like to understand,” I said. “You explained the Tithe to me. I know I bungled it, but now I know what to expect. But for Calanmai . . . especially this year . . .”

“I know,” Tamlin said, and he smiled wryly. “I would be lying if I said I particularly enjoy it. Hunting the white stag is a messy business, and there’s so much at stake that I can never afford to make a mistake. So there’s a lot of pressure.”

“What is the white stag?” I asked. “Lucien said something about it being wild magic personified?”

“Yes,” Tamlin said, his eyes acquiring a sharp glint. “The white stag has been hunted on Calanma by the High Lord of Spring Court for millennia now.”

“Never any other court?” I asked.

Tamlin laughed. “No. Every court has special holidays, and Calanmai belongs to Spring. If you thought Summer Solstice was impressive here last year, you should see it in Adriata.”

I hid my grimace by pretending to look out over the fields. I wouldn’t be seeing Adriata again for a long time--not if I wanted to keep my head. It seemed like Tamlin didn’t know about that. “How did that start?” I asked. “How did the white stag choose Spring Court? It seems more like a coincidence that the night itself falls in the spring.”

Tamlin shrugged. “I really don’t know. That’s not knowledge that’s been passed on. It’s always been Spring’s, and it will remain Spring’s. It’s my responsibility--perhaps the biggest way I can help Prythian every year.”

I tasted bile beneath my tongue. He thought helping Hybern destroy the Wall was the same as helping Prythian?

“So you hunt the white stag, and then what? What do I do?” I had to let him continue assuming that I would be performing the Great Rite with him. We hadn’t lain together since my return, but he still seemed convinced that I would consent to it for Calanmai. Arrogant bastard.

“The ritual occurs in private, in the new temple,” Tamlin says. “Ianthe might be there to supervise, since she’s back now, but that’s just part of her role as High Priestess. I kill the stag and sacrifice it to the Mother and the land--but the magic has to pass through me, which is why I’m a bit . . . wilder, afterwards. The Great Rite is what spreads the magic. Since the ritual is Spring’s, Spring Court gets the largest portion, while other courts get what’s left over--if their High Lords participate in the Rite, that is. If the High Lords don’t participate, then they pass up the rejuvenation for the year.”

“Sounds like a bad decision,” I admitted.

Tamlin shrugged. “It doesn’t happen often. Except . . .” He didn’t continue.

I knew what lingered in his silence. Amarantha. She had likely prevented the High Lords from participating during her reign, or at least found a way to siphon the magic to herself. It would help explain why the courts remained so week year after year.

“The Courts probably need this Calanmai more than ever,” I posited.

Tamlin nodded grimly. “It’s important. You see that, don’t you, Feyre? If you and I perform the Rite, our magic will restore Prythian.”

I nodded. “I understand,” I said softly. I looked away from him, wondering if he was just so good at lying that his plea sounded sincere, or if he really didn’t know that Hybern was going to steal all the magic from Calanmai. “So where do you need me to be?”

\--

I slept fitfully that night, unable to fight past the nightmares to find Rhys on the other side in my dreams. My heart ached when I woke. I needed him. My whole heart and body longed for my mate. If I could get through the next two days . . . if nothing went wrong . . . 

I didn’t see Tamlin that morning, and I was glad. I didn’t want to find out if he had had the nightmares I’d placed in his mind, the shifted memories. I ate a light breakfast and took a stroll in the garden, plotting--always plotting these days. 

It wasn’t long before Ianthe found me. “Feyre!” she cried, a lovely smile on her lying lips. “I am so sorry I did not meet with you yesterday. Are you still interested in seeing the temple?”

“Very,” I said. My thighs were a bit chafed from riding, but I could ignore the discomfort long enough to receive this critical information. I needed to know where the new temple was so that I would know where to avoid Tamlin. Throughout our ride the day before, I had been scoping out the meadows and forests, learning where the celebrations would be and where I might hope to find the stag. Every bit of information I could get would help.

Ianthe joined me on her horse and we headed east. “The border with the Autumn Court is that way, isn’t it?” I asked casually, looking out to the north.”

Ianthe nodded. “Yes. I hope you get the chance to see it one day, Feyre. It truly is lovely.”

“I was about to ask if you’d seen it,” I said.  

Ianthe smiled. “Yes. I spent some time there when I was training.” We paused our horses as she reminisced. As she looked off in the distance, I frowned at the moon tattoo across her forehead. That was a symbol of my court. She defiled it by inking it on her person. My scowl disappeared into mild pleasure as Ianthe turned back to me. “Lady Hermia is remarkable,” she said. “A true Lady. I would love for you to meet her one day.”

“I have met her,” I said, my heart clenching. I remembered the muddy floor, the muddy water, which she had cleansed to repay me for saving Lucien’s mind by giving Amarantha my name. “Under the Mountain.”

“Oh, yes,” Ianthe said, as though she had forgotten. I doubted she knew about the favor Lady Hermia had paid me. “She is so very like Lucien, though perhaps a little less open with her heart.” I knew there was more to her words, but I could not decode the hidden message. I knew it was a threat--something about Lucien’s heart--but Ianthe hadn’t been in Hybern. She couldn’t know about Lucien’s mating bond with my sister. If she did . . . well, that would just be one more addition to the long list of reasons I wanted to kill her.

Our ride had resumed, and soon we were up on a little knoll, slightly wooded, which overlooked one of the large unlit bonfires. Something stirred deep within me--a memory. A tug on the bond. I looked around and I realized that I recognized this clearing. It looked so different in the daylight.

If I closed my eyes I knew I could imagine him there, the first time I’d seen him, free of Amarantha’s binds for just one night, when he had come here to find me. To meet me. And I had never known. He had saved me then, and saved me in a thousand ways since.

Two days. This was where I would meet him in two days.

_Feyre._

I let out a little gasp as the ripple down the bond was so much stronger than usual. Ianthe looked at me in concern, but I waved my hand. “Nothing,” I said. She nodded blithely and I concentrated on the bond within me. _Rhys?_

 _Feyre_. More little plucks on the bond, as though he was aware of the difference too and was experimenting with it. I could only think of one reason why the bond was behaving differently now--he was no longer in Velaris. He was closer--he was coming for me. The realization brought a bright smile to my face, and Ianthe thought it was meant for her, so she returned it. She led us further up the hill, and it was there that I saw a very old stone building like a gazebo, though the roof was open to the sky. It was crumbling in places, especially around the pillars that supported it. Both of our horses fit comfortably inside, and I could see marking all over the stone.

“This is the old temple,” Ianthe said. “It was sadly so neglected during Amarantha’s time that there was little point in repairing it. So, with the generous funding from this year’s Tithe, we were able to construct a new one.”

Tithe. The word clanged through me as I remembered what had happened at the Tithe a few months ago. I couldn’t regret what I’d done--not when it had saved my life. But to think that the money taken from the people then had gone to Ianthe’s new monument to herself . . . it made me sick. “It’s a shame. I’m sure this place is very old.”

“Yes. But sometimes it is time for something new.” Ianthe’s eyes glinted, and I knew exactly what she was thinking without even needing to break into her mind, which was surrounding by walls of glass. She hadn’t let go of Hybern’s promises. She was still planning on stabbing Tamlin in the back. I couldn’t decide if I was glad about it or not.

“I’d like to see the new one,” I said.

It was a good mile from the old temple, which gave me some sense of relief. I had already decided that if I caught the stag, I would take it to the old temple for the ritual. I’d be less likely to be discovered there. I also couldn’t resist how close it was to the place where I had told Rhys to meet me.

I barely listened as Ianthe prattled on about the particular designs she had installed in the new temple, which was just being touched up with paint and cleaned in preparation for Calanmai. At long last, the tour was over, and we returned to the manor. My thighs were burning now, and I was happy to collapse into my own room and prop my legs up on the couch, a mug of Alis’s molten chocolate in my hands.

Too soon, there was a knock at my door and Lucien strolled in, not bothering to wait for my permission.

“I could have been naked, you know,” I griped, not moving from my spot as he sat in the open armchair.

He grinned and reclined, cradling the back of his head in both hands. “Like you would have minded, Feyre.”

“I would have!” I argued. “We’re friends, Lucien, but really.”

“All right,” Lucien said, raising his palms in defeat. “Finally detangled yourself from Ianthe’s claws?”

“Yes.” I paused and looked at him critically. “Have you?”

Lucien jerked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I just remember her . . . efforts with you, earlier this year.”

Lucien’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “Useless then, useless now.”

“I imagine,” I said.

Lucien sighed and said, “Frankly, she set her sights higher than me while you were gone.”

“Oh?” I asked, a chill filling the air as my Winter Court magic leaked out of me. Lucien shivered at the difference, though he did not attribute it to me.

Disgust filled Lucien’s eyes. “She and Tamlin became rather close.”

“I know.” My tone was clipped. It wasn’t because I was jealous. I was just so sick of both Tamlin and Ianthe that I was about ready to shove them into that forsaken cave and have them be done with it on Fire Night. They deserved each other.

“He was still obsessed with you,” Lucien clarified, “but she helped . . . ease his distraction.”

“Hmm.” I drew in my Winter Court magic and the room temperature returned to normal. “I don’t actually care,” I said. “I asked about _you_ for a reason.”

“And what reason is that?”

“Is it so hard to believe I like you and care about you?” I asked.

Lucien’s expression darkened. “Yes. I . . . I’m not used to it.”

Sadness washed over me at the grief in his face. “You and Tamlin--”

“I thought we were friends, too,” Lucien said, cutting me off. “But maybe I was just useful to him.”

I sat up and perched cross-legged on the couch, setting aside my mug. “For what it’s worth, your mother still cares deeply about you. I saw it Under the Mountain.”

Lucien flinched. “It didn’t keep her from standing by while my brothers tried to destroy me.”

I was quiet for a moment. “That’s what would have happened to me,” I said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“I would have become Tamlin’s Lady, so afraid of standing up to him and so beaten down from trying to make a difference and failing that I would have given up.” I tapped my chin with my finger. “I don’t think your mother has given up, though. I think she’s just biding her time.”

Lucien shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” He scratched at his scar and then looked up at me, a mischievous grin on his face. “You like me, then? Just couldn’t resist my dashing charm, hmm?”

“You’re a prick,” I muttered, folding my arms across my chest.

“Ah, but at least I’m a good looking one.”

Fondness flooded my veins. “You’re a prick,” I continued, “but you’re one of my pricks.”

“What do you do, collect them?”

I threw a pillow at him. “Is there a reason you came in here besides to annoy me?” I demanded.

“Yes, actually,” Lucien said, pulling a wad of fabric from his tunic. He tossed it on the table between us and it thudded.

I leaned forward and pulled back the fabric, quickly jerking my fingers away as I saw an ash arrow there. My Fae senses whispered _danger_ , and I folded up the fabric again. “Where did you get that? And why are you giving it to me?”

“You’ll need it to hunt the stag. I could only risk taking one from the armory. It won’t be missed. So you’ll have to be a damn good shot.”

I didn’t want to know what he had risked sneaking the arrow out for me. “Thank you,” I said, my voice thick.

“Don’t get sappy,” Lucien said, standing up and stretching. “It’s just an arrow.”

It wasn’t. I knew it and he knew it. Still, as he left, I called after him, “It’s still up for debate which prick in my collection is the biggest.”

He didn’t even look back as he flipped me off over his shoulder. I returned the gesture even though he couldn’t see, but as the door clicked shut, I could swear I heard him laughing in the hallway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M! NSFW content ahead!

 

**CHAPTER TWELVE - Rhysand/(Nesta)**   
  
**((((NSFW Content))))**

It took several pints of stout to get Mor calmed down after her strategic altercation with Eris. She sprawled out on the couch in our shared living area, bleary-eyed and moody, propped up against Azriel. I knew Mor could hold her liquor, but it seemed she had forgotten the strength of Autumn Court stout. She was already half-asleep, but still seething. Azriel’s arm was over her shoulder and he stroked small lines up and down her arm in a soothing motion.

“I hate him,” Mor murmured for the thousandth time. “Oily, vile, reeking asshole.” Nesta pinched her lips together to keep from laughing. Mor caught the expression anyway and she said her, “He’s your job tomorrow.” Nesta’s eyes flashed.

“How did the conversation with Hermia go?” Azriel asked, tearing his eyes away from Mor.

“Better than I expected, actually,” I said, basking in the warmth of the fire in the hearth. “I think she’ll help us, but she’s stringing me along a bit. I’ll hear from her tomorrow.” I paused before continuing, “She won’t be able to get us out once we’re in. She says we’ll have to get out through Summer Court or over sea.”

Azriel hummed, the sound a low grumble in the back of his throat. “That complicates things.”

“Why?” Nesta asked.

I grimaced. “Feyre and I are wanted in the Summer Court for stealing the Book of Breathings.”

Nesta sighed in exasperation, shaking her head. “Politics.”

“Indeed.” I rubbed the back of my neck. Then I sighed and said, “We’ll figure it out. Frankly, after Calanmai, Tarquin will be the least of our worries in terms of the long list of people who’ll want us dead.”

Just then I felt a warm tug down the bond that connected me to Feyre. I stood and stretched before excusing myself to my room. When I reached the bed, I saw a scrap of parchment on the table nearby. I lifted it between my fingers as though it was a fragile feather and then cradled it in my palms as I read it.

 _I feel you. You’re closer_ , was all the parchment said.

My blood warmed and I took a brass pen engraved with leaves from the table and wrote my response. _Yes. I’m coming for you_.

I knew she’d received the letter when I felt a surprised but delighted tug on the bond. _Autumn Court?_ was her response. The pen clattered beside the paper.

I almost wrote back a confirmation, but I hesitated. Finally, I wrote back, _Too dangerous. Open your mind to me, love._

_Will it work?_

_We won’t know unless we try._

I closed my eyes and reclined on my bed, sending out my magic down our bond, across the forests and rolling hills that separated me from my mate. Hundreds, maybe thousands of minds lay between us, some shielded, most not. I sifted through them, wading through the familiar chaos until I found glistening walls of adamant amidst minds of bark and thorns. There it was--a tiny crack left open for me. I slid in, and my whole consciousness was filled with her. I sent images into her mind--it was as though we were lying in our bed together in Velaris, the night breeze blowing in through the windows and caressing our skin.

 _Feyre_ , I spoke into her mind.

 _Rhys_ , she said back. _I’ve missed this so much_. The voice she spoke to me with was thick with emotion, and my mind-self wrapped my arms around her bare waist and pulled her tight against me.

 _I missed you in my dreams last night_ , I said to her, stroking her ribs slowly, luxuriously.

I could feel her shiver. _I missed you, too. There’s just so much on my mind . . . I couldn’t fight past the nightmares._

 _Are you still safe?_ I asked.

_Yes. But . . . Rhys, I’m so cruel._

My stroking paused for half a second before I resumed it. _How so?_

 _Tamlin . . . he saw me._ My fear clanged down our bond. My fingers curled around her in the mental scene we were sharing. _He figured out that we’re still mated, that I’m High Lady. He was going to . . ._ she shuddered. _He was going to attack me, but I took his mind. I made him forget._

Icy fury plunged through my veins, and for a moment the scene went fuzzy as I put more focus into controlling my anger. That bastard, thinking he could lay a finger on my mate . . .

I was going to rip him to shreds one of these days.

 _You really took control of his mind?_ I asked, resuming my stroking up and down her ribs.

_I made him forget it happened. It was like . . . resetting him. It was so bizarre._

_It’s like that the first few times_ , I said. My hand cupped her hip and my fingers plucked at her lacy underwear.

She tucked herself even closer into my embrace. _I don’t want to do that to someone ever again._

 _Feyre, it saved your life_ , I told her. _It was necessary._

 _I know_ , she said sadly. And my heart swelled with the depth of my love for this woman, my mate, who, despite the wrong she had suffered at Tamlin’s hands, still felt guilty for saving herself from him. Her heart--her beautiful, mortal heart . . . it would be the salvation of Prythian.

In the mental scene, I turned her over so that she was on her back, my hand dragging beneath the band of her underthings as I shifted to straddle her, bracing myself on my other elbow. I bent down and kissed her just as I slid my hand lower, feeling her warm folds. Her hands gripped my shoulders as she groaned into my mouth, opening her lips so that our tongues could dance to the same rhythm I was now stroking in between her legs. Her hips writhed against me, urging me deeper, and my other hand cradled her face as I kissed her.

I had two fingers inside her now, working her as she gasped in between our kisses. She moved against my hand until she was moaning, and when I knew I had her just right, I pressed my thumb onto her nerves. Her arms locked around my neck, dragging me down against her as the pleasure overcame her. _Hell, Rhys_ , she said through our connection.

I laughed as I pulled my hand out from between us, cleaning my fingers slowly with my tongue, my eyes locked on hers. _Thought I might try and get you excited for Calanmai._

 _Are you kidding?_ She hissed. _I’ve been excited for Calanmai all week._

I gave her a seductive smile before I captured her mouth with mine again. I stroked the roof of her mouth with my tongue and scraped it against her teeth before repeating the motion. _If you think it’s good in our heads . . ._ I murmured after kissing her for a long moment.

 _Stop_ , Feyre gasped, sounding as though the last thing she wanted was for me to actually stop.

Her body trembled beneath me, and I finally rolled off her and gathered her in my arms again. I pressed a feather-light kiss to her ear before murmuring, _Have Lucien meet us at the border just before sunset on Calanmai. If everything goes according to plan, his mother will be there, and that should be enough to conceal our entrance across the border._

Feyre nodded. _You remember where I told you to meet me?_

_How could I forget?_

_I don’t know when I’ll be there. It depends on how long it takes me to find the stag._

_I’ll be waiting._

_I have a lot of scoping out to do tomorrow_ , she said. _I should probably sleep_.

 _As should I_. I began sweeping my thumb across her forehead again and again.

 _What are you doing?_ She asked, her brow crinkling.

_Taking away the nightmares before they happen._

She laughed, and then she began sweeping her thumb across my forehead, too. _No nightmares allowed_ , she murmured. She tilted her head and kissed my lips.

 _I love you_ , I said.

She tucked her head into the crook between my neck and shoulder. _I love you, too._

With a great deal of effort, I released the scene between us, sliding back through the sliver that she had left in her shields for me, until it sealed up behind me, keeping her protected from any who might want to harm her mind. Then I spooled myself back across rolling hills and forests like fire, until I was back in my bed in Orielle, missing my mate.

\--

We received a tour of Orielle the next day, but it was a formality for Nesta’s sake more than anything else. I had seen the city dozens, if not scores of times over my life. It was beautiful, with buildings of wood and gold just like the palace, but there was nothing about it that spoke to my soul the way Velaris did. Nesta, too, kept her interest restrained, which only made Eris and Beron try harder to woo her.

Mor and Azriel had sat out the tour, Mor claiming a lasting aversion to the stout from the night before. Truthfully, she had recovered just fine, and she and Az were currently lurking about, trying to find any clues about the extent of Beron’s involvement with Hybern. They would report back to me before dinner, but until then I was responsible for Nesta--and ensuring that Eris didn’t get his claws into her.

She really was handling herself exceptionally, however. She had taken techniques from Mor’s book and had actually started smiling--her smile was different than Feyre’s, harder around the edges, but still lovely. I was taken for a moment by just how well the Autumn Court suited her. She looked like she was born into it.

“You remind me of someone,” I heard Beron say to her. I kept my body calm, though all of my attention turned to his words. I pretended like I wasn’t listening, instead seeming to preoccupy myself with artisan clocks ticking at a storefront.

“Do I?” Nesta asked smoothly. I tried not to be nervous. I knew Beron and his sons alike had gotten a good look at Feyre Under the Mountain, though she had been under duress most of the time and some of her features had been obscured as a result. Nesta’s coloring was the same as Feyre’s though her face was sharper, her posture straighter. If one tried they could easily find the resemblance between Feyre and Nesta, which would be a problem if I was caught in the lie.

“Yes, though it’s surely a coincidence,” Beron continued. “Miryam has been dead for centuries.”

My blood chilled. Miryam? The thought hadn’t even occurred to me, but I supposed there were similar features between the Archeron sisters and my old friend. The specifics of Miryam’s coloring and physical characteristics eluded me after all this time, but if I looked hard enough I could see the same brass undertones in Nesta’s hair that Miryam had possessed. Miryam had certainly been darker--that I could remember for certain. Whatever Beron saw in Nesta, was, as he said, surely a coincidence.

“Ah yes, I have no relatives by that name,” Nesta demurred.

The conversation turned to other topics. Beron tried to hold my attention with discussion of improving trade between our courts now that Amarantha was gone. It was pathetic--as if he thought I would forget how he and his sons had bowed and scraped to her, performing her dirty work and relishing her torture sessions. Unlike his wife, he seemed not to have read the signs of my rebellion against her. He was under the impression that he and I were _similar_ \--what a laughable idea. Of course, I had to remind myself that my mask and his reality were alike. He associated me with the likes of Keir and the Court of Nightmares, which was by my design. If it were not so, I could not be here now--could not make it into the Spring Court for Feyre. So I allowed Beron to think whatever he pleased about me and indulged his ideas of what a stronger alliance between our courts would look like. I would much rather ally with Summer Court--but I had bungled that beyond foreseeable repair.

To make the whole situation more bearable, I found myself sending thoughts and images through my connection to Feyre. Simple things--a clock with with a hunting scene carved into it that I thought she would like, or a gold headband that I thought would compliment her hair.

It was too long before I noticed that I had lost sight of Nesta and Eris.

I let Beron continue talking, thinking that I was listening, but I cast my magic out over the thoroughfare through which we were walking, skimming the minds of others to see where the two of them had gone. Thankfully, it wasn’t far, but I couldn’t very well go running after them. Instead, I prodded gently at Nesta’s mental shields. _Nesta, it’s Rhysand. I just want to watch and be available if you need me._

I could feel her grumble, but she let down her shields just enough for me to hear and see what she did. I became her--a chameleoned into her consciousness so that she was hardly aware of me as I experienced the moment through her mind.

_“I’m thrilled you came to visit us for Calanmai, Lady Nesta,” Eris said as he escorted me down a narrow street. We were still within clear view of the thoroughfare, but there were far less people here. I could read this situation easily. I knew he was trying to herd me into a corner where I couldn’t escape his advances. My mind raced as I tried to figure out a way to prevent it without blowing my cover. It wasn’t too late yet, and I was confident in my ability to bring down a lusty Fae male--I’d done it before, and now I had my Fae body to help. And, though his preening still irked me, I trusted Rhysand to be there the second I needed him._

_The intensity of my new senses made me sick every morning, though less so every day. I had decided they were a weapon I could wield, and so I made an effort to stop hating them. I used them now to evaluate the prince of Autumn’s posture, the hungry glint in his eyes as he scanned my body--all he bothered to see of me. He expected no resistance from me, I could tell. I knew without any uncertainty that he was someone who was rarely told no. Apparently Morrigan had done it once, which had made their battle of words last night thrilling._

_Eris’s other hand snaked around my waist, and I saw his nostrils flare as he smelled me. All these damn Fae were just like beasts. “It is such a shame your parents have kept you locked away all these years,” he said. His voice was silken, seductive, but it did not move me in the slightest. Not like . . . well, not like someone else. Someone whose lips I had imagined on my neck more than once since my last encounter with him . . ._

_No. Not the time for that._

_“You seemed to express approval yesterday,” I pointed out. “Something about bitches on leashes?”_

_Eris chuckled. “That was a message for Morrigan. I apologize that you were drawn into it.” He paused and I knew he was smelling me again. “You seem very powerful, Lady Nesta. Yet untested.”_

_He was so close. And though his scent was not unpleasant, it stung my nose and made me want to get away from him . . . even more than I already did, that is._

_“Your assessment is . . . accurate,” I said, my voice tight. I couldn’t quite keep from shoulders from stiffening as his hulking body loomed over me. Rather different from the way I had reacted when a certain other hulking body had--_

_\--focus._

_“I would love to show you some of the ways of the Autumn Court,” Eris said. He stepped in front of me, and I realized my back was now against one of the buildings along the narrow street._

_“I’d love to be enlightened,” I purred, channeling Rhysand’s way of compelling others do as he pleased. “I’ve heard rumors,” I said as Eris stepped closer to me, his arm beside my head, “that the celebrations on the border with Spring are even grander than the celebrations in Orielle.”_

_Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. Suspicion, perhaps? “There is something special about the bonfires there,” he admitted. “We can’t light quite so many large ones here because of the forest.”_

_I smiled, feeling like an utter fool as I attempted to look seductive. “I like fire,” I said. It wasn’t even a lie--Feyre had always compared me to fire, and since I had become Fae I had felt it crackling under my skin. The first few days had seen it flying out from my fingertips whenever someone looked at me wrong, but that strange woman Amren had helped me learn how to hold it in until the right moment. The more Eris looked at me, the more I thought that right moment would be soon._

_“You sound like an Autumn Court bride to me,” Eris growled, a wicked grin spreading across his face. I gasped as he pressed his hips flush against mine. The fire blazed through my blood as fury overtook me. Blasted, disgusting male . . ._

_“Ah, but I’m still a Night Court virgin,” I sighed, pressing my back against the wall. “And I need a little more ambiance that a secret dark alley.”_

_Eris’s wicked eyes glinted, and he eased himself off of me. “What if I treated you to a trip to the borderlands for Calanmai?” he asked. “If it’s ambiance you’re looking for . .  .”_

_“Would the rest of my party be invited? My parents would be so upset if they found I went without an escort.” I ran a hand up and down his muscled arm as though I had the least bit of interest in it. Though it came at a risk of overdoing it, I bit my lip and scanned his face._

_Eris’s jaw tightened. “My father has to stay here to celebrate in Orielle, but my mother might enjoy the outing. She expressed interest in it last night. And of course, the rest of your companions may join us.” He leaned in and brushed his nose along my cheek, breathing me in. “I do hope we get some time to ourselves while we’re there, Lady Nesta.”_

_I smiled. “I think that can be arranged.” I slid out from under his arm, heading back to the thoroughfare. Eris prowled behind me, a beast drawn into my carefully laid trap._

I spooled myself back in from Nesta’s mind and saw her with my own eyes emerging from the street where Eris had herded her. She walked casually, but from the ire in her eyes and what I had just witnessed through her mind, I knew she was very close to wanting to kill something. I held out my hand to her and she smiled innocently. “Well done, Nesta,” I said under my breath. “You might just be a better actress even than Feyre.”

Nesta’s mouth twitched at the compliment. “I got you to the borderlands.” She stared me down with her steely gaze. “Now you get my sister back.”


	13. Chapter 13

 

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

It was easy to go unnoticed in the frenzy leading up to Calanmai. Almost as easy as it had been last year, when I’d been nothing but a mortal underfoot. I managed to pull Lucien away from his duties to Tamlin for a couple of hours in the morning to scout with me, under the guise of getting some fresh air and enjoying the preparations before the festivities began. It would also help keep me out of the way, I’d pointed out. **  
**

“You’re never in the way, Feyre,” Tamlin said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. At that moment Rhysand sent me an image of a painting he’d seen in the palace of the Autumn Court, and so my smile was genuine.

I had seen Tamlin’s fear when he had first laid eyes on me that morning, before he’d shaken it away, telling himself that the image of me morphed into the High Lady of the Night Court was nothing more than a bad dream. My stomach twisted in guilt, but I had given him a saccharine smile and he thought nothing more of it.

So, he allowed Lucien to take me out, down the paths of the forest both worn and unworn. I had studied the maps of the paths and had ridden many of them before, but now I looked at them as a hunter would--where had the deer worn paths through the brush? Where did they bed down at night? I had no guarantee that any of this would help me, since the white stag wasn’t really a deer at all, but it helped me feel ready.

I also did some target practice with mundane arrows, far from human eyes, and Lucien joined me for the sport. “How does it feel to be hunting again?” he asked as he readied his bow and sent an arrow flying at a target hung in a tree. I marveled at the grace he possessed, the way his red hair whipped in the breeze.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” I said honestly. The last time we had talked about this, it had been before Amarantha, when he’d been goading me about Andras. He had noticed, evidently, that I hadn’t hunted at all in the months following Amarantha, though I’d ridden along.

“The last time I saw you,” Lucien said, “you turned green at the very sight of an arrow.”

“Well, that wouldn’t have done me much good when I had to remove a dozen of them from my mate’s wings after Hybern’s men shot us out of the sky,” I said.

Lucien’s clear eyes widened. “I didn’t know about that,” he said.

“I didn’t think you did.”

“How did you survive?” he asked.

“Rhysand basically threw me through the air so that none of the arrows struck me,” I said, “and then I used some handy Day Court magic to keep from splattering on the forest floor.”

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien hissed. “They’re monsters.” He loosed another arrow sending the hanging target swinging from the branch.

I pulled my arrow back and fired at the same target, catching it in the center as the target swung forward. Lucien raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You practiced while you were gone.”

“What did you think I was doing up there? Just sitting in the dark all the time?” He looked sheepish and I winked at him. I lowered my bow and laid it across my lap as I sat on a tree stump. “Your mother is going to be at the border tomorrow evening just before sunset,” I told him. “She’ll help cloak Rhys and the others from her side if you can do it from ours.” I watched him carefully as he listened. “Are you all right with that?”

Lucien was quiet for a moment. “Will my brothers be there?”

“I don’t know.”

He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “Who am I kidding? I’d go anyway. Maybe ask Rhysand to knock them on their asses just once for me.”

“He probably would,” I said with a smile.

_It’s true, I would._

I gasped and sat up straight. _Have you been listening all this time?_

_I tuned in when I heard my name._

“Feyre?” Lucien asked, raising his eyebrow.

I tapped my temple. “Rhysand says he’d be happy to knock your brothers on their asses.”

Lucien looked queasy. “He can hear us?”

_Every word._

“Every word,” I echoed.

Lucien crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t he just talk to me himself?”

“Yes, he could, but contrary to what he likes people to believe, he actually does respect people’s privacy . . . most of the time.”

Rhysand laughed, and the sound was sweet in my mind.

“I feel like you and I know two very different Rhysands, Feyre,” Lucien quipped.

I laughed. “It’s by design.”

 _My cover is blown_ , Rhys said, humor coloring his words.

“Who should I be expecting at the border?” Lucien asked.

I’ll be there with Morrigan and Azriel, as well as your sister.

“My sister?” I asked.

“Elain?” Lucien went pale.

 _No. Nesta_.

My lips twisted up in a wry smile. “Nesta came with you to the Autumn Court?”

 _Yes, and she’s been a wonder. She went toe to toe with Eris and came away unscathed_.

I relayed this to Lucien, who shook his head, metal eye whirring. “I know only what Feyre has told me about Nesta and what I witnessed in Hybern. If anyone could handle Eris, it would be her.”

I smiled and looked up at the canopy above us. The sun was just past the center of the sky. “We ought to start heading back,” I said to Lucien. We gathered our arrows and began walking back through the woods. We’d left our horses in a clearing some distance off. Halfway there, we heard rustling in the trees. Lucien gripped my arm and pulled me behind him out of instinct. _Rhysand_ , I said.

 _I’m with you_ , he murmured, and I could feel his focus sharpen in my mind.

“Up in the tree,” I hissed to Lucien. I jumped up and latched my arms around a bough, scrambling up with my feet until I was standing on it. Lucien was right behind me as I climbed up a few more branches and crouched near the trunk, looking down the forest path below.

My gut roiled in horror at what I saw.

An army. A blasted army, marching through Spring Court woods. Creatures like the Attor and other vile monsters like those we had witnessed in the camp in the west, trampled clumsily down the path. I reached out my magic to try and get a sense of their directives, but it was all muddied.

 _Rhys, can you read them at all?_ I asked.

A frustrated growl sounded in my mind. _There are too many of them, and I’m too far away. You?_

_No. It’s like their minds are clouded . . . not a wall, exactly, but--_

_\--a spell_ , Rhys finished for me. _They’re likely protected by one of the king’s spells. It doesn’t surprise me that he has something to ward his weak-minded foot soldiers against daemati._

 _I don’t sense any leaders_ , I said. _It’s just . .  a hoard_.

“What do they want?” Lucien whispered to me.

“They’re positioning themselves to attack the Wall once the king steals the magic,” I said. Rhys sent a ripple of confirmation into my mind. “Tamlin swore they wouldn’t come this close to the manor.”

“Well, Tamlin does not seem to be abreast of everything the king has planned,” Lucien said, and this time it did not sound like an excuse, but a condemnation. “It’s shameful for a High Lord to let this happen to his court.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the tree branch nearby him. “I trusted him to be better,” he hissed.

I laid my hand over his. “I know.” Unwilling to risk detection by any of the soldiers below, I said, “Let’s get back.” Then I took his hand in mine and winnowed us away.

-

I was surprised to return the manor to find Tamlin waiting for me, dressed in finer clothes than usual with his hair tied back. “What’s the occasion?” I asked him with a small smile.

“I thought we might have a nice dinner before all the wildness tomorrow,” he said, offering me his arm. He snapped his fingers and my riding clothes were instantly replaced with a fine, sage-green gown that floated through the air. It complemented the green of his tunic, but there was far too much tulle and ribbon for my liking.

 _He has horrible fashion sense_ , Rhys said distastefully.

 _Shut up_.

_Why hide such a perfect body beneath all that fabric? That’s what I want to know._

The corner of my mouth twitched, and I prayed Tamlin didn’t noticed. _Stop it. I need to focus._

Rhysand purred, _I hope you wear something a little less . . . well, less, tomorrow night._

I attempted to shove him out of my mind, but his smug consciousness stayed stubbornly at the threshold. I could practically feel his smirk. I sat in the chair that Tamlin pulled out for me and he sat at the other end of the table, which was long again, as though he was expecting other people. I had assumed it would be just us, but frankly I didn’t care that the table was too large.

“I’m glad you’re home, Feyre,” Tamlin finally said, smiling almost shyly at me. “I’m sorry I’ve been preoccupied these past two weeks, but after Calanmai, I promise things will return to normal.”

“Which normal?” I asked.

A muscle feathered on his jaw. “The good normal. Before . . . everything.”

I managed a smile and did not roll my eyes--though I felt Rhys doing so in my mind. There had been no good normal, not in hindsight. Even before Amarantha, there had been lies, and dominance, and secrets. Afterward, just sadness, emptiness. The last time I had been happy with Tamlin-- _truly_ happy, not just a break from the depression that had haunted me for months--had been ten months ago, at the Summer Solstice. Everything after that had been corrupted by something or another. Sometimes I really wondered just how he remembered things, if his experience of them was so vastly different from mine. It had to be, to explain all of this. “I’m looking forward to it,” I lied. I sipped the wine in my goblet, noticing the tangy sweetness that had been absent from Night Court wines.

 _Feyre_ , Rhys said, nervousness leaking into my mind from his. I ignored him in order to smile at Tamlin--it took a lot of focus to pretend to be enamored with him these days. I chewed on some venison and sipped the wine again. _Feyre_ , Rhys repeated.

 _What?_ I asked.

Just then, the doors at the back of the hall opened, and my blood ran cold. Rhys’s curse rang through my mind as we both saw the King of Hybern and Jurian enter, escorted by Ianthe.

The king looked so out of place in the Spring Court dining room that my eyes almost ached with the incongruent image. It had been like seeing Rhys in this room for the first time--he was clearly meant for someplace else, but unlike Rhys, there wasn’t the slightest thing appealing about him. His skin was greasy, but not from sweat--more like it always had a moist sheen to it. His hair, which might have been nice if groomed, hung about his ears and trailed over a broad, creased forehead. He wore the same kind of wealthy armor he’d worn in Hybern, but it seemed dull and unimpressive amidst the spring glow of Tamlin’s manor.

I could feel Jurian’s energy pouring off of him from here. He looked at me, mad delight in his eyes. He would have been handsome, if it weren’t for the fact that everything about him screamed _wrongness_. He grinned, arms crossed over his chest, as he looked me up and down. “Hello, little daemati.”

Tamlin’s eyes snapped to him, though he had not seemed at all surprised by their arrival. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Don’t you know your bride can walk through minds?” Jurian asked. “She took a gander through mine a few nights ago.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Tamlin argued.

“Is it? Tell us, Feyre Cursebreaker, did you learn any tricks from the High Lord of Night while you were away?” Jurian’s smile made me want to run in the other direction.

I opened my mouth, but the king held up his finger. “Before you answer, you ought to know that the wine was a gift from me, with a little special ingredient. Any question we ask must be answered directly and truthfully.”

 _Rhys!_ I cried.

_Feyre, don’t panic. We’ll get through this. Just play along . . . I’ll figure something out._

I looked at Tamlin, rage contorting my features. He grimaced. “I’m sorry, Feyre. We need information about Rhysand’s movements, and this will ensure that the memories he tampered with won’t interfere.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I cried, still playing my part though I wanted to begin destroying this room and everyone in it. “You didn’t have to trick me! And I thought you said they weren’t coming here!”

“Did he say that?” Hybern asked, glancing at Tamlin with an amused expression. “Oh, the things we say to get those we love to trust us.”

I glared at Ianthe. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“I detest loose ends,” Ianthe said with a graceful shrug. “We need to make sure everything is in order before the ceremony tomorrow night.”

I whipped my head to Tamlin. “If you think I’m doing _anything_ with you now--”

Tamlin’s face hardened. “Feyre. You already agreed to do it. It’s for Prythian’s good. You care about that, don’t you?”

It took all my effort to keep my Autumn Court magic reigned in so that I didn’t set the table on fire. What manipulation . . . how had I never seen before how well he could manipulate? It infuriated me that the person I had been at the beginning of this year would have swallowed it all and said nothing.

Rhysand’s voice flowed over the throbbing emotions in my mind. _Feyre, draw yourself back. Control your body, but not your mouth. I am going to speak for you--it will keep their wine from working on you. Are you all right with that?_

Even now . . . even now he was giving me a choice, when he knew that if I refused him I could be forced to reveal secrets that could compromise everyone and everything he loved. _Yes_ , I said. _I need your help_. I scrambled about in my own mind, pulling the part of myself that could speak back and building a wall of adamant around it as Rhys flowed in and filled the space I vacated for him. I could still hear, smell, touch, but my lips belonged to Rhys.

I nodded in response to Tamlin, my hands trembling, and dragged my eyes back to Jurian, Ianthe, and the King.

“Where is the High Lord of the Night Court?” Jurian asked me.

“I--I don’t know. The Court of Nightmares, I think.” It was my mouth moving, my voice, but Rhysand’s words. They were exactly what I would have said if I’d been given the option to lie.

“Not Velaris?” Jurian pressed.

“Velaris is . . . it was attacked, wasn’t it? I didn’t know it was still standing.”

“Where did he keep you all those months?” Tamlin asked.

“The Court of Nightmares--above it, anyway. He only took me down sometimes. He would get me drunk and . . .” I inserted a shudder as Rhys continued, “I think that’s when he tampered with my mind the most.”

“Is it true he has the Book of Breathings?” Hybern asked. “What does he plan to do with it?”

“Yes, he has it. He plans to unleash something terrible with it.” This wasn’t even a lie--Amren _was_ terrible, and if she could figure it out, she would release herself and likely blow Hybern off the face of the earth.

“What will he unleash?”

“Something not of this world,” Rhysand said through my mouth. “Something older and far more dangerous. I don’t even know exactly what it is, but it escaped the Prison.”

“Impossible,” Jurian breathed.

“Explain to me how who unwove my spells on Hyberm,” the king asked, stroking his chin with his pointer finger. “I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

Rhys paused, trying to weave the perfect half-truth. “It’s because I’m Made,” he said. “It makes me . . . slippery. Rhysand said he had to work extra hard to hold me all that time. When I saw you in Hybern--” I directed my eyes to Tamlin, “it helped me shake his hold on me.”

“Is it true you have magic from all seven courts?” Jurian asked.

“Yes,” Rhysand said, and I was surprised at the truth. “I haven’t learned how to use them all yet.” A half-truth. Some I knew far better than others, but I had used each of them at one point or another by now.

“Very powerful,” the King of Hybern said, nodding his approval. My stomach turned.

“So you are a daemati,” Jurian said, his eyes lighting at the confirmation. “What were you doing in my head that night?”

“It was an accident,” Rhys said. “I can’t always control it. I try, but sometimes I go into people’s minds without meaning to. I . . . I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known what I was doing.”

Hybern chuckled. “I wouldn’t recommend Jurian’s mind to anyone.” He seemed satisfied by the responses he had received. “Ianthe? Lord Tamlin? Any other questions for Feyre?”

Ianthe looked at me for a long moment before shaking her head. She had always underestimated me. I turned my head to Tamlin and almost trembled at the darkness on his face as he asked, “Are you still mated to Rhysand?”

Hybern huffed. “Are you suggesting that I did not keep my end of the bargain?” he asked.

Tamlin ignored him and stared me down. It was difficult to keep my eyes locked on his, but I felt Rhys lending some strength of his as well as he formed the words with my mouth: “No. I never was. It was all part of his mind tricks.”

Tamlin’s shoulders sagged with relief even as my very soul rattled with the wrongness of the lie. Hybern snapped his fingers, signaling the release the wine’s hold on me, and I barrelled out from the prison of adamant I’d locked myself behind and flung myself at Rhys, my mate, whose presence soothed me and strengthened me through our bond. _Thank you_ , I murmured.

 _You’re all right, Feyre_ , he assured me, holding tight to my mind until I had calmed.

“That should be all for now,” Hybern said, preparing to leave the room.

“Wait,” I said, and even Rhys’s grip faltered as I called after them. “Don’t I get to ask some questions?”

Hybern looked amused. “Such as?”

“You said that I’m supposed to work for you. What exactly is expected of me?”

Hybern smiled, and it sent shivers down my spine. “You’ll learn that in due time, Cursebreaker.”

“Do you plan to enslave the humans again?”

“Ah. Yes. I forgot that was a sore spot for you.” He glanced at Tamlin. “Most of all I want my land back. Humans are below my consideration. If they don’t get in my way, no harm will come to them.”

“You see, Feyre?” Tamlin said. “I told you.”

I tasted bile on my tongue. How could he not see it for the lie it was? Still, I did not press the issue.

“Have a riveting Calanmai,” Hybern said, stalking out of the room with Jurian and Ianthe in his wake.

When the door clicked shut, I stood to my feet. “If that’s your idea of romantic, Tamlin, you’ve really lost your touch.”

“Feyre,” Tamlin protested.

I turned to go, but then I braced my hands on the back of my chair and leaned toward him. “It really boggles me how you think any woman would be excited about sharing your bed when you just offered up her mind on a silver platter to the monster who destroyed her family.”

Tamlin snarled, and in the next moment he was beside me, grabbing me by the waist and crushing his lips against mine. Rhys and I both roared with fury inside my mind and I made to push away, but his urgent kiss became gentle, his stone grip at my waist a cradle around my back. I still hated it--every second--but I understood what he was trying to do. He was trying to make me remember what it had been like to love him.

He pulled back and his voice was a low growl as he held my face in his hands. “I am doing everything I need to do to get you back. That’s never going to happen while Rhysand is alive. Hybern and Jurian have promised to get him out of the picture once and for all. When he’s dead, then you’ll be completely free again . . . and we can be together, just like we’re meant to be.”

Tears leaked down my cheeks, and I let him think it was because I was moved with gratitude by his words. I leaned into him and let him hold me, even when I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. I lost myself in Rhys’s murmuring in my mind: _One more day, Feyre. That’s all you need to get through. Then he can’t hurt either of us anymore._

Tamlin finally let me go and I drifted back to my room, barely holding myself together. When I reached my bedroom, I sat in the middle of my wide bed, knees curled to my chest.

 _Feyre?_ Rhys asked gently.

 _I’m going to kill him one day_ , I breathed. _All of them_.

 _I know_. Rhys stopped speaking, settling instead for sending warm pulses down our bond to soothe me and comfort me. It took a while for the tears to stop, but soon I just sat there, chin on my knees, staring into space as the hopelessness of this place threatened to overwhelm me.

The door clicked open and Alis walked in. She saw me, curled up with a tear-stained face. “Feyre, what’s wrong?”

I swallowed and turned to look at her. “Alis, what would you do if this court fell apart?”

Her eyes widened. “What an odd question,” she said, turning away as though she were going to ignore it.

“I mean it, Alis,” I pressed. “Do you and your nephews have anywhere else to go?”

Alis’s face darkened. “You know the answer to that.”

“Let’s just say,” I said quietly, “that Lord Tamlin failed to keep you safe. Would you trust that I would do it? Would you go somewhere unknown if I promised you and your nephews were taken care of?”

“Why are you talking like this?” Alis asked, coming over to me and taking my hand between hers. “I haven’t seen you like this since . . . since . . .”

“Since the day Morrigan saved me from dying in this place,” I said. “Since the day she took me home.”

Alis’s lips parted, and Mother bless her, I think she finally understood what I was saying. “Home is where those you love are, Feyre. If my family is with me . . . I suppose I could make anywhere my home. But still . . . why do you ask?”

“Because I’m going to destroy this place tomorrow.”

Alis let out a startled laugh of disbelief, but then she saw the severity on my face.

“War is coming, Alis, and it’s starting here, tomorrow. I’m not the one who started it, but I will fight in it to protect those I love and those who are innocent. That includes you. You, your nephews, and Lucien . . . you’re the only ones I need to know will get out of here safely after tomorrow.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Morrigan will be here tomorrow. Meet her far from the festivities, and she will winnow you, your nephews, and Lucien into the Summer Court. I can’t follow you there, but Lucien will protect you until we can get you north. Lord Tarquin is rebuilding, and I’m sure he would welcome you home.”

Alis hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds manageable. But I was really asking about what I can do for _you_.”

I sighed in amazement. “Alis, your generosity astounds me.”

“No sappiness. If you’re going to become a destroyer, I can at least help you look the part.”

I looked at her warmly, wishing she were fonder of hugs. “How about you just make me look like a Huntress?”


	14. Chapter 14

 

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Rhysand**

Azriel and Mor instantly picked up on my mood the next morning and stayed far away. They knew I would talk about it when I was ready, but I was still too busy fuming over the invasion of my mate’s mind by Hybern, Jurian, and Ianthe. Thank the Mother I had been near enough to help her. Thank the Mother that we trusted each other enough to share headspace like that.

I had hated taking control of her voice like that, even though it had been the only way to protect her and our court. She had come from a history where her voice hadn’t mattered, where her thoughts weren’t valued. I knew she understood why I had done what I had, but it still felt far too much like a breach of trust.

It didn’t help my temper that I had still been too far away to destroy them the way I wanted to. Hybern and Jurian were bad enough, but . . . when Tamlin had kissed Feyre like that . . .

The whole time I had pictured my shadow claws sliding between his ribs and ripping out his organs.

I remained in sulking silence through breakfast, until Azriel finally pulled me aside and insisted on telling me what he and Mor had discovered while Nesta and I had distracted the High Lord and prince the previous day. They’d found barracks at the edge of the city that were certainly in use, and Azriel had uncovered anonymous directives in precise, neat handwriting that seemed to be urging readiness.

“So the Autumn Court will move toward the Wall is Hybern is successful tonight?” I asked.

“That seems to be the case.”

“It’s no surprise that Beron agreed to take us to the border, then,” I said. According to Nesta, Eris had assumed that his father would be staying in Orielle, but at the last minute he had decided to accompany his sons and his guests to the celebrations at the border.

“We ought to be vigilant as ever,” Azriel cautioned. “If Beron has been in contact with Hybern and Jurian, then he may be intending to deliver you into their hands--since Jurian has such a personal stake in seeing you dead.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’ll be over the border before the bonfires are even lit,” I said.

“Rhys, what is your plan?” Azriel pressed. “We know you’re getting us all in, but what about after?”

“I’ll find Feyre first,” I said. “Mor will take Lucien and the others Feyre has identified across the border into the Summer Court before it seals up at dawn. Feyre and I will meet you there, but we can’t cross over without repercussions, so we’ll fly out over sea. I need you to make sure that Mor and the others get back to Velaris in one piece.”

Azriel’s eyes went dark. “You and Feyre will be on your own?”

“Only until we reach friendly territory,” I said. “We’ll fly around Summer and Autumn and touch down in the forest--then we’ll winnow to Velaris.”

“That makes me uncomfortable,” Azriel confessed, rolling his shoulders and setting his jaw.

“I know. But that’s how it has to go,” I said. I looked over his shoulder to see Lord Beron approaching.

“Lord Rhysand, our transportation to the borderlands is prepared,” he said. “I hope you’ll enjoy the trip. We’ll be there by mid-afternoon.”

I nodded in false gratitude. Truthfully, I would much rather fly--I would get there faster and enjoy the sights from the angle I preferred best. Still, I had to do this Beron’s way if I didn’t want him to suspect anything. I smiled at Lady Hermia as I passed her outside the castle doors. She only raised her eyebrows in response, betraying nothing of our secret conversations.

I spared only a scrap of consciousness to Beron’s dull narration of our tour through his forests. I focused more on Nesta and Eris, who sat across from us in the carriage. Eris’s hand lingered near Nesta’s thigh, and only the set of her jaw told me that she noticed.

Most of all, though, I was distracted by thoughts of Feyre. I could feel the connection between us grow ever stronger as we journeyed closer and closer to the Spring Court. None of the Autumn Court’s rich natural beauty held any interest for me, and when we at last rolled into the festival grounds on the other side of the forest, I tense with anticipation. I allowed myself to be distracted with a long feast and a bit of ale, but I wanted to keep my senses as sharp as possible for the night.

Eris would not leave Nesta’s side all day, and she was just as irritated by it as I was, though she pretended not to be. She smiled and flirted as though it came naturally to her, and Eris could not tell he was being strung along in the slightest.

The two of them walked slightly ahead of us in the late afternoon. Eris pointed to a hilltop with a wooded grove. “That is where the Great Rite is performed,” he said, his other arm wrapping around her hips. “It was the best view of the Spring and Autumn Courts alike. I’d like to take you there tonight,” he whispered in her ear. She gave him a deadly smile.

“The border is just there, isn’t it?” Nesta asked, gesturing to a neatly groomed hedgerow lining the rises and dips of the hillside.

“Indeed,” Eris said.

“I’m sure the Spring Court can’t compare to Autumn,” Nesta continued, “but I have heard that their bonfires are something to behold.”

“Ours are better,” Eris said confidently.

Raucous laughter rose behind us and I saw Lord Beron walking with other members of his court, all of them already very drunk, though the sun was only just beginning to scrape the horizon. Lady Hermia locked eyes with me from among them, and I knew she was planning to herd them away and meet with us soon to get us across.

All around us, the bonfires began to ignite, sending colorful smoke and rich aromas into the air as the celebrants began to gather around them. I followed Eris as he guided Nesta toward one of the fires.

“Dance with me?” he asked her, bowing at the waist.

She stiffened. “I don’t dance.”

“Allow me to show you how.” Then, without waiting for her agreement, he swept her into his arms and dragged her into the wild dance around the fire. I kept one eye on them, knowing Nesta could handle herself, while I sent silent messages to Mor and Azriel to take their positions near the hedge. I sent out part of my magic to sense Feyre on the other side, but there was so much magic rising in the air that it was harder than usual to sense her. She was still all right--I sensed no danger. I wondered if she had begun her hunt yet.

After some time observing the dancing, Lady Hermia drifted toward me, her gold fingers almost glowing in the firelight. She had deposited her drunk husband in one of the tents, and she gave me a wide berth as she walked innocently toward the hedge where Mor and Az were waiting. I gave her some distance, and then followed behind her, catching Nesta’s eyes and giving her a slight jerk of the chin to tell her it was time.

I glided through the darkness toward Hermia when I heard a shriek behind me. I whipped around to see Nesta facing me, Eris’s arms locked like a vice around her waist. He lifted her feet of the ground, one hand seizing her breast, as he attempted to drag her back and away from the celebrations. I started running toward her, preparing to winnow and snatch her away from him, but before I could even put together a thought to do it . . .

. . . Nesta lit herself on fire.

She became like one of the bonfires surrounding us, the flames consuming her whole body, spewing from her toes, eyes, and fingertips. Eris screamed and leapt back, his clothes burning. I could smell burning flesh and hair as Nesta whirled on him. “ _No one touches me without my permission_ ,” she raged, bearing down on him.

“Nesta!” I called, and she whirled to face me, not realizing how the grass around her had begun to catch fire.

Eris had fallen on the ground and was crawling away from her, even as he burned with Nesta’s fire. My eyes widened--he had fire magic in his blood, and yet he could not put out Nesta’s blaze.

I was about to tell her to put it out, but then I thought of Mor. I thought of the countless women Eris had hurt and would continue to hurt. I thought of the faeries he had helped torture Under the Mountain.

He would survive this. Maybe. But for now he could burn.

“Nesta, come on!” I called, waving her over.

As soon as she saw me, her fire blinked out around her body. Her clothes were unburnt, her body completely unharmed. She reached for me and I seized her wrist, winnowing us across the darkening hills to where Lady Hermia waited. When we landed, Nesta shook and fell to her knees, vomiting in the hedgerow.

“What just happened?” Lady Hermia demanded.

“Eris had a lady successfully fight against his advances for a change,” I seethed. Mor looked from me to Nesta, pride and wonder spreading across her face. She helped Nesta to her feet.

Lady Hermia shook her head. “I don’t want to know. I can’t be away for much longer. Is there someone waiting for you on the other side?”

I sent out my magic, pushing through the border. _Feyre_ . . . I called. _Is Lucien ready?_

Feyre’s answer was breathless, and I pictured her running through the forest as she said, _He should be there_.

Then, I saw a silhouette winnow just on the other side of the hedgerow. Lady Hermia froze as she spied her youngest son striding toward the hedge. “Is this everyone?” Lucien asked, looking from face to face as this were a perfectly ordinary exercise.

“Lucien,” Hermia breathed.

He glanced at his mother, face blank. “Mother,” he said. He waved his hand over the hedgerow and it peeled away. Hermia performed the same action on our side, leaving an opening just wide enough for two people at a time to pass through. Mor and Nesta went first, Nesta’s body still quaking. Lucien’s eyes followed her, his metallic eye widening and narrowing. “What happened to her?” he asked.

“ _She_ happened to Eris,” Mor said. Lucien’s face darkened, but he seemed morbidly pleased.

Azriel passed through next, and Hermia said, “Lucien, are you all right?”

Lucien’s mouth pressed into a straight line. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I’ve always cared!” Hermia protested. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

Lucien shrugged one shoulder. “Guilt. A pathetic attempt to seem helpful after centuries of not helping.”

“I never hurt you, Lucien!” Hermia snapped, her eyes glistening with angry tears.

“You never stopped them from hurting me. You might as well handed them the knife that killed her. You might as well have helped Amarantha carve out my eye. So please, don’t pretend that this is going to be any kind of sweet homecoming or reunion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Lucien!” Hermia cried in hurt outrage. “I’m risking everything to--”

“No, you’re not,” Lucien said, cutting her off. “You’ll be fine. I’m the one who is sacrificing everything to be here, to help Feyre. I have no court, no home. I have one friend in the whole world. Don’t paint yourself as a saint, Mother. It takes more than not being a monster to earn that title.”

Hermia reached across the hedgerow for him with her golden-fingered left hand--her dominant hand, I realized. He stepped back, gesturing instead for me to step through. I did so, joining Azriel, Mor, and Nesta on the other side. I looked back at Hermia’s stricken face as she drew her hand back and the hedgerow sealed up between her and her son. Lucien turned away, his face cold and stony.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t cringe away. “You have a court, you know,” I said. “You’re welcome among us.”

Lucien smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes as he began stalking across the spring grasses. “I’ll accept the offer from Feyre, if it’s all the same to you, Rhysand.”

I let my hand fall to my side and walked beside him. “Fair enough. I trust she told you about getting you out through Summer?”

Lucien nodded tersely. “We’ll linger until after midnight when everyone is sufficiently drunk, then make our way across. Alis was once Summer Court so that should help us get through.” Lucien paused and we faced each other in the fading light. “Thank you for what you did for her. Terrifying as it might be,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve been going out of my mind knowing she’s here. But knowing that she’s had you has helped.”

Lucien nodded and then looked out toward the swath of trees on the other side of the rolling meadow. “Go find her.” A ghost of a smile danced across his mouth. “She’s waiting for you.”

The thrill of having her so close pounded through me, and I revealed my wings, spreading them on either side of me. Lucien’s face wide pale with fear and wonder, and I grinned at him as I leapt into the air, taking flight in search of my mate.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feyre’s look for this chapter drawn from the pin on SJM’s Pinterest!
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/246853623296871615/

 

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

I slept late and locked myself in my room that morning, claiming that I needed to get ready for the festivities that evening. It wasn’t a lie, but I was doing far more than making myself look and smell pretty more Tamlin.

My hatred for this place and my determination to see it ended had been honed into a steel edge by the ambush last night, and there was nothing left but cool, calculated will as I prepared myself for that night.

Alis had reacted far better than Lucien had when I had shown her my true self. In fact, she had smiled and said, “I always knew you had claws, Feyre.” She looked at me critically before pulling out the paints she had smuggled into my room--the body paints that were traditionally used to adorn a High Lord during Calanmai. She had already had me dress in tight, breathable leggings with a leather belt, perfect for allowing me to move quickly and quietly through the night. My daggers fit perfectly into the belt, and trim leather boots kept my feet supported.

My midriff was exposed, though my chest was covered by a wrap that looked like wheat but felt like something stronger. It would help with camouflage. A collar with a scalloped pauldron graced my left shoulder, leaving my right shoulder free to draw my bowstring. Finally, there was an ebony black cloak that would cover my wings until I needed them and would help me blend into the shadows even more.

My tattoo marking me as High Lady was clearly visible on my right arm, and Alis had continued the pattern up my arm and over my shoulder, across my chest and down onto my other arm. She’s also painted my neck and up along my jaw--I knew she would have painted my legs, too, but it made little sense to me because of the leggings.  It had been a struggle to stay still against the cool paint, but the end result was worth it. My hair spilled out from beneath the hood, the copper undertones glinting in the firelight, and my painted skin made me look every inch the wild huntress.

“Thank you, Alis,” I breathed.

“A High Lady,” she said, practically tearing up. “I’d have never thought, but that just makes me the fool, doesn’t it?”

“You know where to go?” I asked her.

Alis nodded. “Good luck tonight, Feyre.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and winnowed out of the room and into the spot in the forest where I had chosen to begin my hunt. I could already hear the drumming beginning, the magic rising in the atmosphere. I felt it like I hadn’t since I was a human and had tasted the magic like metal on my tongue. The beating of the drums pulsed through my veins, filling me until I felt I wasn’t quite one with the earth anymore--as though I had become something else entirely. The magic crackled in my veins, a song that I did not know but remembered intimately, both sung and unsung, known and unknown. It was the song of magic, and I was just the taut strings upon which it played its tune.

I tilted my head back, not far enough to discard my hood, and smelled the air. Magic--it was everywhere, already, and the ceremony had not even begun.

I was reminded of the Weaver in the Wood, my efforts in the Summer Court, and the Cauldron. I had been preparing mostly as a way to keep myself busy, but I had known from the beginning that the stag would call to me. It would be a chase more than a hunt.

My body trembled as I let the magic leak out of my pores, embodying itself as wolves of shadow on either side of me. They snarled, eyes glowing, My hands clenched around the hilt of one of my daggers on instinct, and my head whipped to look deep into the trees as I felt the first thrum of magic set its hoof down on the loamy soil.

And so the hunt began.

I ran through the trees, pulling the bow from its strap at my back and nocking my ash arrow--the only one I had. I moved so quickly that after a while I realized I wasn’t running, wasn’t winnowing, but something in between-- _floating_ on the shadows of the night, darting between the trees as though they were nothing at all, my wolves at my side. Shadows and tendrils of night trailed behind me. My focus on the magic released my tight grip on my own, and for the first time since I had come into hiding on the Spring Court, I let my full, true nature breathe. My hands morphed into claws of shadow just like Rhys’s; talons dug into the earth every time I touched a foot down. Star-flecked night streamed from my skin and the ends of my hair, and my canines sharpened to points.

I could feel every hoofbeat of the stag off in the distance as though it were my own pulse. I gave chase, never slowing, never tiring, as the magic fed me. It was intoxicating--better than any faerie wine, better than any tonic. I was _infinite_.

Some time into the chase, as I skirted around the edge of a cluster of trees, I felt another presence in the woods. His scent gave him away immediately--Tamlin, on the hunt for the same thing I was. I saw a glint of gold in the dim light cast by the fires all through the land, and when I skidded into a clearing, I saw him standing at the other side, frozen.

The stag was standing right between us.

How was that possible? The stag had been miles away, it seemed, and yet now it was here, shimmering as though it kept moonlight under its hide. Its broad antlers twisted over its head, a majestic crown and towered over both Tamlin and me.

“Feyre?” Tamlin gasped, his voice wild and guttural as he took me in, all my glory. I could almost taste his horror. “What are you doing--”

_Sleep._

Tamlin collapsed to the ground.

The stag turned to me, its fathomless eyes boring through me until I felt I was stripped completely bare. _Lady Feyre of the Night Court_. The voice was deep, unending, neither male nor female, and ancient . . . older than anything I’d yet encountered. Lucien had been right.

I knew exactly what I needed to do in that moment. I spread my wings wide on either side of me and sank onto my knees in a deep bow, the crown of my head facing the stag.

 _What are you here to do, Cursebreaker?_ asked the stag.

“I am here to kill you,” I said.

 _That is normally the task of the High Lord of Spring_ , the stag said.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my head bowed, “but if he does so this year, the King of Hybern will steal your magic from him and use it to cause untold death and destruction. You are a being of life, not death.” I knew this truth deep in my bones--had suspected it before, but had known it the minute those deep unending eyes had looked at me.

The stag was quiet for a long moment. _What do you plan to do with my magic?_

I trembled. “I . . . I don’t know,” I said, the force of him compelling me to be honest. It was pathetic--I sounded like a child, a complete infant, before this mighty and magnificent thing. “I want to help Prythian.”

_Why?_

My whole body was shaking with the overwhelming power of him. He was asking me questions that I had hardly given myself a chance to think through. I knew the answers, deep down, but how to express them? I had no words. “Can I show you?” I whispered, finally lifting my face to meet the stag’s.

The stag gave a long, slow blink, and then lowered its head toward my outstretched hand. I cried out as my hand connected with that force of nature, but through the chaos I managed to send him images, feelings, emotions, desires, dreams . . . the fibers of my being that had no words to accompany them, no language to satisfy them. For a brief, terrifying moment I felt myself slipping away into the magnitude of him, but as I neared that threshold, the stag drew its downy white head back, and I collapsed onto the forest floor.

“Does Tamlin know?” I gasped, quaking. “Does he know . . . how magnificent you are?”

There was a flicker of something in the wake of our contact. Amusement? _He has never needed to know._

I knew then in that moment that I could not kill this stag, nor could I let Tamlin or Hybern kill it. The stag read the realization in me just as I voiced, “What can I do? How can I spare you and Prythian both?” Lucien had told me that chaos would break loose if the stag was not sacrificed . . . but I couldn’t do it.

The stag leaned toward me again, and I almost flinched away, but I steeled myself and laid my hand on its brow once more. And in that brief touch, I was filled with understanding.

 _I am for all of Prythian and always have been. Spring laid claim to me centuries ago, hoping to keep all my power for itself, but it never could. I always spread to the other courts, rejuvenating them in whatever measure I could after Spring had wrung me out. In the beginning, all courts shared in me equally. In the past,_ they _sacrificed to_ me _._

“Why did it change?” I asked.

_Greed. Fae, I am sure you have seen, are as greedy and lustful as humans. I am no god--I do not determine how my magic is used, how they use me. But it is a lie that I must die. I can share my magic in other ways._

“How?” I whispered.

_I could bind it to you, and have you be my herald, the dispenser of lots. You could choose who receives some measure of my power._

“No.” There was no hesitation. I knew without doubt that such a responsibility was not mine to bear. “I am not worthy of such a task.”

_Then take seven drops of my blood and place them in the heart of the old temple. My magic will spread throughout Prythian, and balance shall return. Greedy courts shall have their excess stripped; weakened courts will be restored. But your court . . ._

“Yes?”

_Your court shall be blessed, not with a larger portion of magic, but with my favor and protection. I will no longer appear in the Court of Spring, but in the Court of Night, in the hopes that I may meet you there again._

I felt like I was going to shatter with the strength of the promise. This was changing the order of things, changing how it had been for centuries. Taking the honor of Calanmai away from the Spring Court . . . “Why?” I asked.

_For your mercy, and your humility. And the beauty of a new, young love._

Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t even have the strength to cry properly.

_Rise and approach, Lady Feyre._

I buried into the depths of my strength to find the capacity to rise, and my hands shook as I drew the dagger from my side, lining it near the flesh that the stag exposed by tilting its head away from me.

One small cut, and I counted seven drops of blood on my blade before the wound sealed shut in a blink. I enchanted the blade to keep the blood in place until I could deliver it to the temple. “Do I still need to perform the Great Rite?” I murmured.

Another trickle of amusement from the stag. _Your mate is near. My vow is sealed even without the Rite . . . but why not enjoy your well-deserved reunion?_

I felt the fire crackle in my veins as I sheathed the dagger in my belt and bowed once more to the stag. It gave one nod of its enormous head, and before I could blink, it had vanished.

Tamlin still laid unconscious at the other side of the clearing. He would wake soon. I needed to hurry.

I raced up the hill and through the forest to where Ianthe had shown me the old temple. In the darkness, it did not seem decrepit . . . rather, it possessed the ancient glory that the stag had, and I could see power flowing through the cracks in its surfaces. I strode to the center of the temple and removed my dagger. “For Prythian,” I murmured. “Let the balance be restored.”

I tipped the dagger and watched as the seven droplets of blood sank into the ground. A sudden tremor ripped through the earth and I fell hard to my knees, cringing as the pain rippled through my bones. I gritted my teeth as seven streams of light poured from the cracks on the ground--the blackest light plunging right into my heart.

I gasped as it filled me--the strength of the stag’s promise and the power that had been stolen from the Night Court in increments since Spring Court had stolen the lion’s share of the magic for itself every year for centuries. Black light poured from my eyes, fingertips, mouth, toes . . . and it was like I had no more need of my body, as though the magic and I were fused, one. A still-small part of my mind told me that this was the high, that it would be over come morning, but . . . this was incredible.

I rose to my feet and a slight breeze rippled through the open-air temple.

And I smelled him.

I was the night, I was the shadow and the darkness and the spaces between the stars as I blasted through the trees ever closer to my mate, who waited for me . . . who had always waited for me. I reached the clearing further down the hill, my eyes barely taking in the fires down below, my ears not quite hearing the cries of wonder at the light that had just blasted from the old temple. I could only think of his _scent_. But where . . .

“There you are.” My body locked up and I whirled around to see the prince of night standing casually at the other end of the clearing, smirking, his ebony hair ruffled in the breeze. And even he could not hold the smile from his face as he stepped toward me and said, “I’ve been looking for you.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: VERY NSFW CHAPTER!!! If you don’t like smut, skip to the last third or so of the chapter for plot-relevant moments.))

 

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Citrus, sweat, smoke, the sea.

Those rich, beautiful smells that I had been deprived of for too long.

_Rhys._

The two weeks that had separated us yawned out like a gaping hole between us. It might as well have been an eternity, so badly did I crave him. It was like I had been dying of thirst and hadn’t known it until I began drinking in the sight of him.

Rhys’s face bore no mask, no joking, just open, unabashed wonder. “You’re glorious,” he said. I notice then that trails of paint peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves, tracing his strong forearms, and trailed up his neck, extending his tattoos. His wings were out, the night leaking off of him just as it had been the first time I’d met him--here, in this very spot. Only this time, it didn’t frighten me.

Unable to hold myself back a moment longer, I began to pounce--

\--only to have him vanish.

Coldness washed through me, but it was banished a moment later when those strong forearms clamped around my waist from behind and dragged me against his solid torso, holding me as tight as he could without hurting me. His nose brushed the skin along my neck, breathing me in. He was real. He was actually here, actually touching me. It wasn’t a dream, or a mental scene. These were really his hands, his lips . . .

“Feyre . . .” he sighed, his breath caressing my neck. He pressed a kiss where the word had fallen, and then more kisses, up and down my neck, dragging his lips and teeth against my skin until I moaned. One hand spread its fingers across my abdomen, smearing the paint there, and the other crept up underneath my small tunic to cradle my breast. A full shudder ran down my whole spine as he pinched my nipple between his first two knuckles. His hand drifted to the other side and gave the same treatment to my other breast. I laid my head back against his shoulder, pressing myself against him. I reached my arms over my head to tangle in his hair, arching my back and baring more of my throat to him.

I felt him go hard against my backside, and I let out a hoarse laugh. “A little excited, High Lord?” I teased, my mouth gone dry.

He growled, “You have no idea.”

I began to grind my hips against him, feeling that glorious length, craving it inside me. I let out a cry of pleasure when Rhys’s hand moved from my torso to stroke the membrane of my wings, sending an erotic thrill through my body, making me weak-kneed. His arm tightened around me to keep me from slipping too far. Somehow, without ever releasing me, he slipped through the shadows so that he was in front of me again, his violet eyes burning into me.

“Feyre, I missed you,” he rasped, his breathing uneven as his hands roved over my backside and kept me close to him. “Every single minute, I missed you. I--”

I captured the rest of his words between our lips as mine crashed into his. I couldn’t kiss him deep enough, couldn’t push my tongue far enough. My arms wrapped around his neck and I continued to grind, feeling the growing ache of my own heat between my legs. My wetness.

I pulled away from the kiss and saw his nostrils flare as he scented my desire, my need for him. I tugged at his shirt collar, and all he had to do was blink before it vanished revealing the swirling lines of tattoo and paint over his muscled chest. He kissed me, hard, biting my lower lip between his teeth--enough to arouse, not to hurt. He hauled me up so that my legs wrapped around his torso, and the next moment the world folded into shadow around us.

When it returned, we were in the temple just a little further up on the hill. The building still glowed with the white stag’s power, but neither Rhysand nor I cared. He pinned me against one of the more intact pillars, stripping away my tunic so that my pauldron and bow went clattering to the ground. He ripped away my leggings, destroying them with his exposed claws. Then he drew those back and sank down, hooking my legs over his shoulders so that I was in the air, with nothing but the pillar and his shoulders for support.

His nose, his mouth went straight for my folds, licking straight up their center so that I screamed with pleasure. I dug my fingers into his hair, leaning back against the pillar, as his thumbs pulled apart my thighs even more to grant his tongue unrestricted access to the most sensitive parts of me. I writhed, trying not to slide from my position, while he stroked me with his tongue and fingers both. He plunged his tongue into me and I moaned his name, again and again. I let out a cry when my release finally came to me, but Rhys didn’t stop--working me with his tongue through wave after wave of pleasure until I slumped back and he drew me down from the pillar.

The world pulsed with power, and I couldn’t tell whether it was the high from Rhysand’s skill or the magic that made me feel like I was in a million pieces. While I took a moment to recover, his mouth found my breasts, swirling his tongue around them, nipping at them with his teeth. _More more more_ , the power and lust within me begged. I tipped my head back and his mouth clamped around my throat, his tongue prodding the skin as though tasting the blood pulsing just beneath. If he were my enemy, he could kill me easily. But Rhys would never be my enemy, and I trusted him more than I even trusted myself sometimes.

He growled and I realized that he had likely heard my thoughts. In fact, in the haze I was hardly sure where I ended and he began, so closely were our minds and bodies intertwined.

Now--I needed him now.

My hands grappled for the straps around his waist, but with another mere thought those had disappeared, too. I pouted, “Ruining my fun?”

He chuckled, “Not in the slightest.” He stood, drawing me up to my feet with him. “I’ve been thinking I want to try something,” he purred, his hand stroking just beneath my navel.

“Oh?” I breathed. “We should spend time apart more often if it makes you this creative.”

Rhysand growled and his fingers contracted around my waist. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

We were both drunk on the magic, and we understood each other beyond what our words managed to express. I never wanted to be apart from him again, not like that. He would let me out of his sight, but never for that long. But we knew all of these things without having to explain them--so in sync were we.

My hand drifted down and caressed his hard cock, which twitched at my touch. I gasped as Rhys’s hands hauled me up and fitted me around him, sliding into me, deeper and deeper. I wriggled against him, letting out a groan of pleasure as he filled me, completed me. “Are you ready?” he whispered into my ear.

“For . . .?” I asked, but my breath was stolen out of my chest as Rhys suddenly launched us into the air, high above the temple. “Rhys!” I screamed, clutching tight to him.

“I’ve got you, Feyre,” Rhys said, moving one hand to wrap around my backside as he moved himself within me, slow and powerful, to the beat of his wings. My own wings dragged through the air, not helping much with the flying, but I could hardly pay attention to them as Rhys plunged into me, again and again.

Every movement came with a clap of thunder around us. The darkness swirled--if anyone looked up in wonder, they would see only swirling night. Over Rhys’s shoulder, I could see the beautiful landscape dotted with bonfires, the far-off drums an undertone to my racing pulse.

As Rhys held me close, it began. My glow. A broad, awed smile shone on Rhys’s face as he beheld me, as I beheld me, glowing against our inky night.

I was a star. I was the High Lady of the Night Court, and I was a star against him, the canvas of night that held me in the sky.

Another thrust, then another, until he slammed in deep and found his release inside me, taking me over the edge with him. My light fractured into a million tiny stars, wrapping us in their glittering light, sticking to our sweat-slicked skin until we both glowed like we had on Starfall.

We were the falling stars now.

Rhys was so undone by us that he stopped beating his wings, and we went free-falling through the sky, dragging the night with us. He cocooned me in his arms until we crashed into the temple, bring several pillars down around us.

Covered in dust and starlight, we laid beside each other, completely unharmed and laughing. I gripped his hand in mine, and he pulled me over him so that our chests pressed together, our ragged breathing keeping the same rhythm. I grinned wildly and kissed him once on the lips. He kissed my forehead, his eyes shining like our mating bond. “I think it goes without saying,” he said, brushing a lock of dusty hair from my brow, “but that was the best sex I have ever had.”

“In six hundred years?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Rhys laughed in the back of his throat. “In six hundred years.”

“We have an eternity ahead of us, Rhys,” I said. “It only gets better from here.”

He growled in satisfaction, then drew me down so that my ear was against his chest and his hand cupped around the back of my head. “You’re thrumming with magic . . . what did you do to that stag?”

“Rhys, it was incredible,” I said, trying to figure out how to explain it. But then I decided to do what I had with the stag. I placed my hand on Rhysand’s temple and shared the memory with him.

When it was over, he wrapped both of his arms around my back. “Feyre. My wonderful, beautiful mate. You’re going to save Prythian.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, sensing the double meaning in his words.

“These things that we’ve accepted and assumed about our world for centuries,” Rhys said. “You’re turning them over one by one, seeking the best, restoring the best of us. You faced down the white stag and restored balance to Prythian without so much as a second thought. I’ve dreamed of all of these things, Feyre, and you’re making them come true.”

I smiled and kissed his chest. “I’m done accepting my fate. You taught me to fight, Rhys, and I’ll do it to my last breath.”

Rhys’s fingers contracted, “Which won’t be for a very, _very_ long time.”

“Right.” Something trembled in the magic around me, but instead of intriguing, it was . . . alarming. As though someone were nearby.

Rhys sensed it too, and in the next moment we were both clothed again and hidden in the shadows, our scent obscured by the darkness that served us both.

“This has never happened before,” came Tamlin’s voice as he and another figure crashed through the trees. “The white stag always submits to the hunt!”

“Well, something different happened this year,” Ianthe snapped, her voice shrill and pissed. They burst through the brush to look at the temple that had been half-destroyed by us and yet still glowed with the stag’s magic as it fed itself into the earth. “Impossible!” Ianthe gasped, dropping to her knees. “No! No, no, no!”

“What is it?” Tamlin demanded.

“The magic . . . it’s flowing out of Spring,” Ianthe said, dragging her fingers along the stone as though she could pull the magic out again. “The stag wasn’t sacrificed.”

“I can still find it,” Tamlin said, turning to prowl into the woods again.

“No, you can’t!” Ianthe snapped. “It’s too late. It won’t be seen again until next year. You missed your chance, Tamlin!”

Tamlin went pale. “But . . . Hybern . . .”

“Yes, Hybern,” Ianthe sneered. “He won’t be pleased at all that you’ve let this happen.” Ianthe rose to her feet and stalked toward the High Lord of Spring. “He was relying on that magic to help him tear down the Wall, and you’ve _ruined_ it!”

“Watch yourself, Ianthe,” Tamlin growled. “I am still the High Lord of Spring. Do not speak to me like that.”

“I’ll speak to you however I want,” Ianthe snarled. “You’re not going to be High Lord after tonight anyway . . . _that_ part of the plan, at least, can still go through.”

“What did you just say?” Tamlin demanded.

Ianthe flashed a beautiful, wicked smile. “You’re such a fool. You think some pretty pleas would make me give up on what I’ve been working for centuries to accomplish? Hybern made me one promise in exchange for Feyre’s sisters and access to this land. No more High Lord of Spring . . . but a High Priestess, instead.”

My bones became steel as I stiffened beside Rhys, who also went still as death.

Tamlin’s snarl was chilling, but he had no sooner taken a step to morph into a beast than Ianthe had frozen him in one place with the wave of her hand. A spell--one of Hybern’s spells. I could taste the difference of the magic in the air. Then, to my horror, she slid an ash dagger out of the garter on her thigh. She raised it to strike him when I stepped out of the shadows.

“Ianthe, you bitch.”

She whirled around and she went deathly pale at the sight of me and my mate, both our wings spread wide, the shadows obeying our every breath. Tamlin, who still had control of his face, went slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “Feyre,” he said. “How . . . what?”

“Don’t stammer, Tamlin. It’s not very appealing,” I spat. I turned my attention back to Ianthe. “If you lay a finger on him, you’ll have to face down the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Are you sure that’s wise?”

“High Lady?” Ianthe spat. “There’s no such--”

“You know, I hear that a lot,” I said, casting my glare on Tamlin, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I _am_ High Lady of the Night Court, nor the fact that I already want to kill you, so harming Tamlin won’t save you.”

Rhys laced his fingers on mine and I saw him smile in wicked delight.

“All this time?” Ianthe gasped.

I grinned. “You taught me how to playact well,” I said. The irony was too delicious. Rhys had taught me most of what I’d needed to know about masks, but Ianthe had played her role, too. My expression hardened into one of ire. “You know Hybern is going to betray you like he’s done everyone else, Ianthe. He’ll kill your friends and family and then probably you. He wants all

of Prythian and all of the continent--do you think Spring Court is somehow an exception to that? You and those mortal queens . . . how arrogant to think he’d treat you any differently.”

Icy rage poured over Ianthe’s demeanor. “One way or another,” she said, “I’ve bowed and scraped for too long, looked down on by these High Lords and their ilk. One less of them will only help me sleep better at night.”

Then, in a flash, she stabbed Tamlin in the chest.

I exploded.

I leapt at Ianthe, ripping the dagger from her hands and knocking her to the ground so that her head cracked against the stone of the temple. For the flash of a moment, I was back in Velaris, getting vengeance on the Attor. Ianthe was beautiful, but she was no better than that monster had been. “This is for Tamlin,” I said stabbing her through the palm with the dagger. “This is for Lucien.” The other palm, another shriek to join the first. “For Nesta, Elain, and me,” I said, slicing three long cuts along her abdomen. She writhed and moaned and screamed, but I couldn’t find a shred of mercy anywhere in my body. “For Rhysand.” I sliced open the skin of her forehead, straight through the tattoo of the phases of the moon. Then, I positioned the knife above her throat. “And this is for Prythian.”

I barely felt any resistance as the blade slide clean through her elegant white neck.

Shaking as though I were going to burst into piece, I stood to my feet, covered in Ianthe’s blood.

“Feyre,” Rhys said quietly, stepping up beside me. I slumped into his arms and he held me. I couldn’t even cry--the shock was too great.

There was a choking cough behind us and I turned to see Tamlin struggling to heal because of a shard of ash wood still buried in the wound. I approached him and knelt beside him. “Why did you . . . why did you save me?” Tamlin choked, pain crumpling his features.

I looked at Rhys and then back at Tamlin. “Because,” I said, running a bloody finger down his cheek, “if anyone is going to kill you, Tamlin, it’s going to be me.”

Then I took his by the shoulder and winnowed the three of us to the border of the Summer Court, leaving Ianthe’s broken and bleeding body in the crumbling temple.


	17. Chapter 17

 

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

We touched down on the thrumming earth. Tamlin rolled across the grass, moaning, blood still staining his painted chest. I shoved myself away from him and buried myself immediately in Rhysand’s arms, my body shaking like leaves in the breeze. I couldn’t breathe properly--it felt like my blood was rushing too fast, my mind spinning so quickly I couldn’t make sense of anything but Rhys’s body. He was the anchor to my world.

His arms wrapped securely around me, not even noticing Ianthe’s blood all over my hands and body. His lips grazed my temple as he tucked my head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Breathe, Feyre,” he said, his voice a soothing balm pouring over me. “You’re all right. You’re all right. I’m here.”

“Rhys,” I moaned, tears streaming down my cheeks. “What’s happening to me?”

“It’s just the magic,” he said. “It’ll fade. Just hold on.”

I nodded and let him run his arms up and down my back, giving me a sense of _realness_ , grounding me. Our scent wafted over me, reminding me of who I was and what mattered most.

An indignant groan sounded from behind us. I did not break away from Rhysand’s embrace, but I turned to glare at Tamlin, who had risen to his knees. His wound was still open, but it was far smaller. He was certainly still in pain, but he wasn’t going to die at any minute.

“You bastard,” he spat at Rhys.

My hands turned into talons instantly and I snarled, but Rhys laced his fingers between mind, bringing me back from the lure of the magic. “Now is not the best time to antagonize her, Tamlin. You saw what she did to Ianthe. The bitch deserved it, but still.” There was a flash in his eyes and I knew he was remembering her advances on him. I gritted my teeth. She would never hurt anyone like that again.

“She was _mine_ ,” Tamlin seethed, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “You stole her away from me!”

“He did no such thing,” I snapped, and Tamlin’s eyes finally met mine. “I am not an object to be stolen, Tamlin. I made a choice, and that choice wasn’t you.”

A wave of love cascaded down the bond between Rhys and me. Rhys buried his nose in my hair, hiding his smile from Tamlin. “It’s a mind trick, Feyre,” Tamlin said. “He’s controlling you.”

“No, _this_ is a mind trick,” I said, using my own mental powers to scrape against his shields--not even crossing the threshold, but making him know I was there. Tamlin stiffened, eyes wide with horror.

Rhys’s voice filled my mind. _Later, darling. We need to move._

I released Tamlin from my mental grip and his shoulders slumped. I stepped away from Rhys’s body, though I kept his hand in mine, as I oriented myself to where we had winnowed. Color was starting to bleed along the horizon as dawn approached, and when I looked behind us I saw that the bonfires were beginning to die down. Before us was a wide river, and I could feel the magic of the Summer Court on the other side. I could feel it thrumming through my feet, rivulets of it streaming through the earth to return to its court in proper measure.

“Feyre!” I whirled around to see Mor bounding toward me. I could barely blink before she crashed into me, wrapping her arms around me. “Thank the Mother you’re all right! I’ve been going insane without you!”

“It’s only been two weeks,” I said with a breathless laugh.

Mor looked at me seriously. “You underestimate the ability to injured Illyrian males to get under your skin in two weeks.”

Just then I saw Azriel over her shoulder. “Az,” I said. “You’re moving about.”

His mouth twitched, the only thing close to a smile I would get from him. “Thanks to you,” he said. “You look well.” And it was only because I knew him that I understood he wasn’t being sarcastic. To him, the Illyrian warrior, the blood, dust, and smeared paint were an asset.

“Trying,” I said.

Suddenly, he bent down on one knee and lowered his head to me. Mor followed suit. “We never got the chance to acknowledge you, thanks to Rhys’s secrecy,” he said, his voice low and deep. “But you are our High Lady, and our friend.”

“We’ve been over the ‘protecting and serving’ bit,” Mor said, her lovely mouth pulled up in a smirk, “but it bears repeating. We’re loyal to you and Rhys, Feyre, until the Mother calls us home.”

Tamlin looked between us, face aghast, as I nudged Azriel’s knee with my foot and gestured for him to get up. “Are my sisters all right?” I asked.

“Elain is safe with Amren,” Azriel replied, and I felt instantly calmer. Amren could protect her from anything.

“And Nesta?”

“Feyre.”

I turned to see Nesta standing with Lucien just beyond Mor and Azriel. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly ajar, at the sight of me in my full Night Court glory, covered in the paint Rhys had smeared all over me and the stains of Ianthe’s blood. My heart almost stopped when I looked at _her_ \--I hadn’t gotten a good look at her as High Fae since the chaos on Hybern. She was beautiful, just as she always had been, but--I could _feel_ the power leaking from her pores, could smell it in her scent. I wondered if she knew about it.

This woman could destroy the world if she pleased.

“Nesta,” I said. I took a step toward her. “What, no remarks on your little sister covered in filth? Being a beast who shouldn’t be allowed in civilized company?”

Her eyes sparked, and I knew my sister was still inside this High Fae woman. “Well, I just lit the prince of Autumn on fire last night, so I don’t think I’m in any position to judge.”

A surprised smile lit my face and I looked to Rhysand for confirmation. He nodded, amusement flickering in his violet eyes. I held out my hand to her. “Thank you for coming for me.”

She hesitated once before grasping my hand with her strong fingers. “I owed you.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry about all of this,” I murmured.

“Well, there’s no point in missing what’s gone,” Nesta said, her words lined with steel as always. “Elain’s waiting. I need to get back to her.”

“We all need to get back,” I agreed. I turned to Tamlin and stood before him, staring down at him. “Open the border,” I demanded.

Tamlin’s nostrils flared in fury. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Tam,” Lucien sighed, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to hear a word from your traitorous mouth,” Tamlin spat, and Lucien cringed.

I stepped between them. “Do not speak to a member of my court like that,” I said, my voice deadly calm.

“Feyre?” Lucien asked.

“We can worry about the formalities when we get home,” I said, “but as far as I’m concerned you’re a member of my court now. My family. You’re not trapped here anymore.”

“Trapped?” Tamlin demanded. “He was free to go wherever he pleased.”

“Always with the knowledge of the debt you held over his head,” I corrected. “That’s not freedom, Tam. Just like how I was never truly free here, either, not when you relied on me to break the curse. My options were to love you or to let Prythian be destroyed. That doesn’t sound much like _freedom_ to me. Now, open the border.”

“Tarquin will not be pleased that I am letting another High Lord onto his land without prior invitation,” he said with a sniff.

“And High Lady,” I added, miffed that he still wouldn’t acknowledge it. “Luckily for you, Rhys and I won’t be going.”

“No, you won’t.”

I froze as I turned to see Hybern, Jurian, and a legion of vile soldiers lined up behind them, cornering us against the sealed border. No--not again. Not a second time. “You absolute _scum_ ,” I spat at Tamlin. He’d seen them coming. He’d been stalling for a reason.

I waited in dread for that seal to descend on our power, to weaken us, but . . . it never came. My magic-addled mind was able to piece enough information together to realize that this was not Hybern’s territory, that he was weaker here--though not by much. And right now, on the night of the year when Prythian’s magic was free, pure, and stronger than his--and flowed through my own veins--he could not get a grip on our powers.

Hybern looked me up and down, sniffing once. “What in the world have you done to poor Ianthe?” he clucked. His expression darkened. His eyes, black like an abyss, bored into me. “What have you done to the magic?”

“Freed it,” I said. “Balanced it. The magic that Spring Court has been stealing for centuries is returning to the other courts in its proper measure as we speak.”

Hybern’s mouth parted in surprise as Jurian spat, “Impossible!”

“That word has less and less meaning the more I hear it,” I drawled.

“You’re useless to me now,” Hybern said to Tamlin, whose face went pale. “I needed your court and its magic, and you’ve failed to provide me what I asked for.” He turned his finger toward Tamlin’s chest and the High Lord roared as the splinter of ash in his wound twisted. In a flash of memory I was in my human body as Rhys had twisted the shard of bone in my arm. Now he knew what that had felt like. Tamlin slumped and double over, holding himself up by his hands, fingers tangled in the grass. “In fact,” he continued, his black eyes looking at all of us, “most of you are useless to me.” His eyes fell on me. “Except you. You infuriate me, but I could use you. Grab her.”

Soldiers lunged toward me, but Rhys’s power and mine wove together to form a shield of night around us, disintegrating everything that touched it. Some soldiers lost fingers or hands--all were wise enough to back away before they lost everything. “If you take her from me again,” Rhys hissed as the night cleared, “I will raze your armies to the ground and make Hybern itself crumble away into the sea.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Hybern laughed. “But frankly, you can come for all I care, Lord Rhysand. Jurian will likely kill you before too long, since he seems to hate you so much.”

Wonder and greed sparked in Jurian’s eyes--and for the first time I understood something about him. Understood something about what was driving him, why he was here, working with Hybern.

He wanted Miryam. And he thought Rhys knew where she was.

“We’re not going anywhere with you!” I growled.

“Then I’ll kill your friends one by one until you submit. It’s easy enough,” Hybern said, and my bones turned to stone as he began to turn his attention to Azriel, Mor, Nesta, Lucien . . . Alis and her nephews, who were clutching her skirts and crying.

“For the Cauldron’s sake, Tamlin, save the children,” Lucien begged. “Open the border for them!”

But whatever obstinance Tamlin had shown us had ebbed away, and he remained on his hands and knees before Hybern, not even looking up.

“ _Tamlin_!” Lucien roared. He whipped around to face the border himself, raising his hand as though he had any power to open the border.

As his hand lifted past his shoulders, a wall of water burst from the river, towering over our heads before an opening appeared, drawing back like a curtain. And then, from the wall of water, three figures appeared, garbed in armor, pale hair darting in the rush of wind the water created.

Varian. Cresseida.

And Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer.


	18. Chapter 18

 

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Behind Tarquin was an army, full of High Fae and lesser fae alike, all brimming with power and eagerness to fight. The young High Lord scanned the scene before him with cool eyes and an even expression, as though he were doing no more than deciding what color curtains he wanted in his house.

“Lord Tarquin, thank the Mother,” Lucien breathed, striding up to the High Lord and grasping his arm.

Tarquin blinked and offered Lucien a small, slow smile. “Lucien, my friend,” he said. His eyes flicked back to the leashed chaos of the Spring Court. “It seems I came at the right time.”

“Precisely,” Lucien breathed, glancing nervously between the two armies.

“Lord Tarquin, is it?” Hybern asked, seeming unimpressed. “Another clumsy attempt at rebellion, I see.”

“The children, if you please,” Lord Tarquin said, gesturing beside him to welcome Alis and her nephews through the gate. They hurried to him and the children darted through. As Alis went to slip by, Lord Tarquin put a hand on her shoulder. “I know of your sister’s service to this court,” he said. “You are welcome home, in thanks to her and all she did for this court. I am sorry I could not protect you before.”

Alis’s eyes gleamed with tears, but she only nodded and hurried through to the protection on the other side.

“What are you waiting for?” Hybern barked at his soldiers.

The gruesome faeries began to advance on Mor, Azriel, and Nesta, but before they could get close enough to touch them, a wall of water appeared before us all. The soldiers pressed on, preparing to rush through the shield, but in the next blink the water became a curtain of steel, shimmering in the breaking dawn.

I snapped my head to Tarquin. “Are you--?”

Tarquin shook his head and looked toward my sister, whose arm was plunged through the water. But--she didn’t look quite like Nesta anymore. Her whole body glinted like steel, as though her skin had become armor and she had fused with the wall of steel before us. Her face was set with terror and determination, but she was holding the shield strong.

We took the moment of shelter to regroup. “Lord Tarquin,” I said, turning to him. “I know we’re not on good terms but--”

Tarquin held up a hand. “Thank you Lady Feyre, but now is not the time.” His eyes looked me up and down and I was morbidly pleased that he, unlike another High Lord I knew, had no trouble addressing me a High Lady. “Lucien contacted me and said that Hybern was causing trouble, so I’ve had my forces ready. Lucien was my friend back before Amarantha, so I am here for him.” He locked eyes with Lucien, who nodded, his face tense.

I looked at Lucien. “When?” I breathed.

“Since just after Nynsar,” Lucien said. “Tamlin never knew.”

My heart swelled and tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed the emotion down. “I don’t expect passage for us,” I said to Tarquin, gesturing to myself and Rhysand, “but will you allow our companions through? My sister? They have done you no wrong.”

Tarquin’s eyes met mine, and the hard edges of his face softened. “You can--”

Nesta screamed. A blast of power had rocked her shield, rocked _her_ , and she went flying back. Mor caught her and kept her from falling to the ground before passing her into the protection of Azriel’s wings.

“We can’t fight, not here,” Rhys said, his jaw tight. “With the Cauldron he’s still too strong.”

Tarquin snarled but nodded. He waved his arm to usher Nesta and Azriel through the gate. “Lucien,” he said, calling to his friend. My friend. My brave, clever friend who had been committing treason far longer than he’d even allowed me to know--before he’d even known about Elain.

Lucien hesitated just as Rhys and I dashed toward the gate. “Tamlin’s still there,” he breathed. I looked around and realized that Tamlin had been on the other side of Nesta’s shield, which was quickly disintegrating in the king of Hybern’s magic.

“Lucien,” I said, knowing what he was thinking.

“I can’t leave him.” Lucien’s mouth was set in a hard line and I couldn’t reach for him fast enough before he darted through the tattered and melting steel toward Tamlin. I shot after him, Rhys roaring my name.

I leapt over a shard of steel and seized both Lucien and Tamlin, blasting them back toward Tarquin on a wave of hardened air. They hit the ground hard and Tamlin bellowed in pain. I spread my wings wide, prepared to incinerate anyone who came near me. The soldiers lunged, but before they could lay a finger on me or lose them, a clear voice rang out.

“ _Stop_.”

It was Jurian. The soldiers froze and looked to him in confusion, as did the King of Hybern. My eyes scanned Jurian’s face, and I saw his mad gaze flicking between me and Nesta, who was still visible on the other side of Tarquin’s wall. “Impossible,” he breathed.

“We’ve established that,” I said through gritted teeth, clenching my fist to temper the flaring magic there.

But a word blasted from Jurian’s mind as though he could not hold it in any more, and it rang through my head over and over and over again.

 _Miryam Miryam Miryam Miryam_.

“I want her,” Jurian breathed, pointing a trembling finger to me. “And I want that one.” The quivering arm shifted to point at Nesta.

“I’m not--we’re not Miryam!” I cried.

The soldiers began to come for me again, but there was a flash to my left and suddenly the whole group was a bleeding pile on the grass. Mor stood in front of me, breathing heavily, her sword dripping with blood of different colors. She stared at the king and at Jurian, the promise of death in her eyes, her teeth bared in a wildcat’s snarl. “Feyre, _go_!” she barked, stretching her ruthless blade at her side.

“Mor!” I protested, but just at that moment, the sun finished rising over the horizon.

Calanmai was officially over.

A wave of nausea so intense it felt like a punch had me sinking to my knees, but Rhys winnowed to me and snatched me to his chest, taking us back to Tarquin just as Mor took out another band of soldiers rushing at her. “Mor, no!” I shrieked, trying in vain to fight against Rhys’s protective arms. I was too weak, and I felt him in my mind telling me it would be all right, that he would go get her as soon as I was safe--

Another blur of shadows whipped past me as Azriel unsheathed Truth-Teller and bolted to support Mor. A spray of water droplets cooled my face as Rhys pulled me back into the safety of Tarquin’s wall, but I could still see as Hybern blasted Azriel backward like I had done to Tamlin and Lucien. He collapsed with a roar, and while he was down, Hybern himself snatched Mor’s arm and winnowed her away.

The roar that escaped Azriel’s lips was like nothing I had ever heard, and it ripped something deep within me, adding to the wreck I had become with the dawn. Lucien winnowed to Azriel and dragged him to the other side.

Tarquin’s wall closed but remained upright, protecting us from Hybern’s forces on the other side. Tarquin stepped back as we all collapsed to the ground at his feet. I vomited in the grass and Rhys gathered me in his arms onto his lap, peeling away damp hair from my sweat-slicked forehead.

“Mor! _MOR_!” Azriel screamed, fighting off Lucien and bolting toward the wall. He bounced off it as though it were Nesta’s steel shield. He pounded on the rushing water with his fists, soaking his body, but was unable to get through.

“Azriel,” Rhys said quietly from where he sat with me on the ground, cocooning me in his arms as I shook.

“You have to get her back. Tell me if she’s alive!” Azriel begged me, dropping to his knees beside me.

But I couldn’t. I was too weak, trembling. I could barely make sense of my own thoughts, let alone attempt to reach for anyone else’s.

“Azriel.” Rhys’s voice was lined with steel and his spymaster looked up at him, eyes desperate and face pale. “We’ll get her back,” Rhys vowed. “She’s alive,” he confirmed for me, running his hand down my back, over my shoulder, through my hair. “We’ll go after her. I promise.”

Azriel buried his face in his palms. This was the most undone I had ever seen him, even when he had been bleeding out in Hybern’s keep. “He’s going to torture her. He has the Cauldron, and--”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Azriel looked up at Nesta, who had spoken from where she stood near Tarquin. Rhys shifted us both to see her. “What did you say?” Azriel gasped.

“He doesn’t have the Cauldron.”

Rhys’s body went still in careful observance. “How do you know?”

The air shimmered in front of her, and a shape began to take form on the grass in front of her. When I saw it, my heart sputtered and I almost forgot to breathe. Nesta looked over all of us, tattered and injured and filthy, and despite what had just happened, her eyes gleamed with triumph. “Because I have the Cauldron.”


	19. Chapter 19

 

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Everyone looked at Nesta, aghast, as the Cauldron hummed with power in front of her. “How is that possible?” Azriel breathed, his face still pale, his hands still clenched into fists. **  
**

“I don’t know,” Nesta said, and beneath her fixed expression I saw the terror. “It . . . it followed me. I didn’t do anything. It’s just . . . here.”

My mind whirled, trying to latch onto any coherent thought concerning how she had been Made, what had happened that day . . . but all I could think was that I really wanted to throw up again. I was too exhausted to stay shifted, so my wings had vanished along with my talons and claws. I was just Feyre again, as good as mortal, quivering in my mate’s arms.

Varian stepped toward the Cauldron in wonder. “I didn’t know it was real . . .” he breathed. As easily as it had appeared, the Cauldron vanished again. “Where did it go?” Varian asked.

“Away,” Nesta said, her voice edged with iron.

Lord Tarquin looked out over the bruised and battered refugees now sprawled across his summer grasses. For a moment, he really didn’t seem to know what to do with us.

Rhys stood to his feet, bringing me with him, though his arm remained supporting me around my waist. “Lord Tarquin,” he said, “I hope you know that I intended to honor your judgment against Feyre and me and refrain from coming onto your land. Situations being as they are, I understand that I must face the consequences. I only request time for my mate to recover before we do so.”

Tarquin’s lips pressed together at the reminder of the blood rubies. “That will not be necessary.”

Rhysand’s arm tightened around me, as though he were preparing to fight for me that very second if no reprieve was to be granted. An unbidden growl rippled from his lips as he turned to shield me behind him.

Tarquin sighed. “You misunderstand, Rhys. It will not be necessary, because although you committed a grievous crime against this court, I am aware of what Lady Feyre did with the white stag and the service she performed to the Summer Court by releasing the magic. The matter of the Book of Breathings must still be reckoned with, but I declare the blood feud null.”

Rhys almost sagged in relief, and he nodded in gratitude.

“I have a small country estate not far from here,” Lord Tarquin said. “You are welcome to come and rest, but I would prefer not to waste time. There are several matters that must be addressed as soon as possible.” His gaze flicked to Nesta.

“I agree,” Rhys said, his eyes holding a dangerous gleam. He looked at all of us and said quietly, “I don’t presume to tell you how to handle your own guests, Tarquin, but I might request that the High Lord of Spring be kept far away from my mate.”

 _My mate_. That was twice he’d said it now. I loved the sound of it, loved _him_ , how he was unafraid to proclaim it even in the face of all this chaos. I nestled my head closer to his chest.

“I think that can be arranged,” Tarquin said, fixing Tamlin with a glare. “If you’ll follow me, we shall order food and rest for you.”

“Thank you, Tarquin,” Rhys said. Tarquin ordered horses brought for all of us except Tamlin, who was made to walk in the rear of us. He was unbound, but closely guarded. The splinter of ash in his chest was enough to keep him from lashing out and trying to escape.

Rhys passed me to Lucien for a moment while he mounted a horse and then helped me into the saddle ahead of him. I had enough wherewithal to realize that I had never seen Rhys on a horse before, and it struck me as hilariously absurd. This High Lord of Night, Illyrian warrior, bothering with a beast of burden. But I realized that he was likely drained as well, and he would be uncomfortable revealing his wings before all of Tarquin’s armies while flying me to the estate. So horseback it was, and as the caravan fell into exhausted silence, the rocking motion of the horse soothed me and I fell asleep in Rhysand’s arms.

-

When I next stirred, I was between silken sheets that caressed my body like cool water. My body was so weary that I hardly had strength to lift my arm, so I laid with my head on the pillow and tried to rouse my mind enough to remember where I was.

I was too exhausted to even be panicked.

Immediately in front of me was a tall window at least twice my height with glass panes. Gauzy curtains floated before them in a breeze that felt like . . . summer.

Yes. Summer.

I could smell fresh cut grass, the slight odor of humidity. Birds sang outside, and I could hear a stream bubbling through the grounds, though I couldn’t see it. Groaning, I rolled over onto my back and locked my eyes on the canopy that matched the curtains before throwing my right arm over my eyes. I held it there for a minute, resisting wakefulness, before pulling it away again, holding it over my head so I could admire my tattoo. I was done hiding it. It was marked on my skin for a reason, and I was far from ashamed of it.

My arm fell to my side as I felt a tug on the bond that ran through the center of my soul.

 _Are you awake?_ Rhysand asked.

_Barely._

Two moments later, the door to my room clicked open and Rhys slipped in, the darkness of him a stark contrast against the sun-bathed, white-furnished room. I lifted my head to look at him and managed to wriggle into a somewhat seated position, with my elbow on the pillow and my legs curled up beneath me. He came up to the bed and knelt beside it, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to my lips. He gently brushed some of my hair away from my face and cradled my cheek. “How are you, Feyre?” he whispered against my lips, his eyes closed, long dark lashes brushing his cheekbones.

The sound of my name on his lips was beautiful enough to remind me of what I’d missed. Now that I was free from the magic of Calanmai coursing through my veins, I could experience our reunion as _me_ , not as . . . whatever I had been that night. I whimpered and tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and before I could form a word, Rhys slid onto the bed next to me, nimbly slipping over to my other side to turn me and gather me into him. “Feyre,” he sighed, knowing what had brought my emotions forth. “Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.” My name was a song on his lips, and I turned my face up to kiss him, drawing him into me, my fingers contracting against his chest.

These kisses were not hungry in the same way as usual. I longed for him, but longed for more than just his body. In fact, I had no interest in sex right now--I just wanted to hold him, breathe him in, be near him. I felt the absence now even more keenly that I had when we were apart.

Rhys seemed to feel the same way, because we just sat for a long time, holding each other and kissing, his hand tracing idle lines up and down my arm. Eternity--this could be my eternity.

“How long was I asleep?” I whispered when we had stopped kissing and laid our foreheads together, allowing me to stare deep into those violet eyes.

“It’s been three days,” Rhys said, and he laid a hand over mine when he felt it tense. “Don’t be upset. One’s first Calanmai is draining, and you had a lot more to deal with than most of us.”

Memories began trickling through my mind. Rather than like a dam bursting, they slipped in one by one, and I half-wondered if Rhys was holding them back for me so that I wasn’t overwhelmed with the chaos all at once.

“Mor,” I finally whispered. When I closed my eyes I could see her beautiful, raging face tearing apart Hybern’s army to get me out alive, only to be snatched by Hybern himself. What was happening to her?

“Mor can take care of herself,” Rhys said, though his voice was tight and I knew he was terrified for her, terrified about what our enemy might do to her to get her to betray our location, our secrets.

I gripped his hand in mine. “We have to go get her,” I breathed.

He nodded once. “I know. We will.” I felt the vow as deep as our bond, and I knew that there was nothing Rhys wouldn’t do to get his cousin, his Third, out of Hybern’s clutches.

“It’s my fault,” I said, unable to keep the words locked up in me anymore. “If I hadn’t tried to save Lucien, Tamlin . . . she would not have had to come after me.”

“Don’t,” Rhys said, kissing my forehead. “I’ve been down that road before. Mor made a choice, a choice she would make a million times over to ensure that you, her friend and High Lady, are safe. She would hate the thought of you blaming yourself.”

I swallowed and nodded. “It’s hard. It’s so hard.”

“I know.” Rhys squeezed me tight. The solemnity in his face slipped away and his eyes became mischievous, and I knew he was preparing to distract me with his usual techniques. He pressed his lips to the outer corner of my mouth and then dragged them across to the other corner, allowing his tongue out between them for a slow, sensual sweep. When he reached the other side his pressed his cheek to mine and breathed in my ear, “As much as I would love to remain here and kiss you until the world ends, Feyre darling, there are people waiting downstairs to help us figure out how to ensure the world keeps spinning. Are you feeling well enough to join us? I told them not to begin until I checked in on you.”

The pressure of it weighed on me, but I said, “I’ll come down. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to contribute, but I want to be there.”

“You always contribute,” Rhys assured me, shifting and helping into an upright position, his hand hovering at my lower back. “Here.” He pulled a small vial of blue liquid from his pocket. “This is from one of Tarquin’s healers. It should help get rid of the fatigue.”

I accepted the vial, popping the cork and sniffing it. It smelled of blueberries. I glanced at him and said, “Bottoms up,” before shooting the whole vial in one swallow. When I looked back at Rhys, his eyes were filled with a wild hunger that formed a stone in my stomach.

“Must you be so irresistible?” he asked, his voice husky. He swiped his tongue over his mouth before licking a stray drop of the tonic from my lips. I opened my mouth to his and his tongue swept in, caressing mine, as we tasted each other and breathed the same air. After savoring it for a moment, we broke apart. Our eyes met and we grinned at each other guiltily before agreeing that what waited downstairs was more important--but only barely.

Rhys stayed on the bed and watched me get dressed, his eyes scanning up and down my body languidly. It was likely the tonic more than anything else, but the way he looked at me, desired me, _loved_ me . . . it seemed to bring some of my strength back. By the time I had pulled on a flowing periwinkle gown that made my eyes look more grey than blue, my head was clearer and I no longer felt like my limbs were made of stone.

Rhys sauntered up beside me as I checked myself in the mirror. “Your glamour is incredible,” he said, placing his hands on my hips. My skin burned at the contact, even through the dress. “You could fool anyone into thinking you were simply an ordinary High Fae.”

I met his eyes in our reflection. “There’s a ‘but’ coming,” I said, and he grinned.

“ _But_ ,” he said, “There are perks to your rank. One is making people squirm just by your approach. And darling, I know you have it in you.”

My mouth twitched in pleasure. I watched myself on the mirror as I loosened my glamour a bit, allowing the tendrils of night that always accompanied me now to be seen, just as Rhysand’s were. But, unlike his, mine contained flecks of stardust, so there was a slight sparkle whenever the sun caught them just right. The same was true of my skin--when I shifted, there was a very slight glimmer, not enough to be blinding, though it could be if I wanted. And perhaps it was self-indulgent, but I allowed my fingernails to come to darkened, pointed tips. From a distance one could mistake the look for a dramatic manicure--not for deadly claws.

Rhys’s lips parted as he gazed at me, his hands moving to run up and down my arms. “Exquisite,” he said. “You are a wonder, Feyre.”

I smiled then and he kissed my temple before looping my arm in his and walking beside me to the hall where Tarquin had assembled those to whom he wanted to speak. The corridors were just as open and sunny as my bedroom, and the air maintained that smell of cut grass and summer berries. The first thing I thought of was Rhys’s home atop the mountains--’fit for the Summer Court,’ he’d called it. He was right--the openness, cleanness of the air, gentle beauty . . . it all reminded me of the mountain.

But it was also unmistakably like the Spring Court. The white walls, ivory pillars, tile floors . . . it wasn’t exactly like Tamlin’s manor, but the layout was similar. Yet there was a certain rusticity about this place that Tamlin’s manor had lacked--a certain relaxed quality, as though the Summer Court were not quite so concerned with subduing nature’s wildness. We passed windows where the light streamed in green because ivy had been allowed to grow over the panes of glass; birds were inside the house, flitting about near the ceilings and perching on pottery. I even saw a dog running through the house once. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen a dog not bred to hunt.

The hall where everyone was waiting held all the same patterns--high windows lined the room, and the tile floor was so clean I could see the reflection of the painted ceiling in it.

I couldn’t help but look up, and my breath was stolen away by the sight of a painting of the open sky, with beautiful fae--both High and lesser--galloping about, so lifelike it seemed they were in motion. Rhys squeezed my arm to draw my attention back, but when I glanced at him his mouth was twisted in amusement. _You are welcome to paint the ceilings back home any time you wish_ , he said into my mind.

_Careful, I just might take you up on that._

Rhys sent a long stroke down our bond, and it was an effort not to look like a love-sick fool as we approached the long table. I reminded myself that Rhys and I had been mated for less than a month, half of which we had spent apart--if anyone had an excuse to act a little foolish, it was us. But there were far too many other things to think about right now, so we both schooled our faces into cool authority and strolled down the hall, our stride matching so perfectly that only one set of footsteps could be heard.

I almost didn’t see Tamlin. But he was there, at the end of the table farthest from Tarquin, staring at Rhys and I with wide eyes and flared nostrils--taking in our swirled shadows, our matched stride, the glimmer on my skin and tattoo on my arm. A small part of me scrambled to find a piece of my heart that felt guilty for parading my mate, my choice, in front of him . . . but no such piece existed. I looked at him with cool indifference before turning my head away to walk to the other end of the table, where two servants pulled out chairs for us on the left-hand side of the table.

Tarquin sat at the head, with Varian and Cresseida on either side. Rhysand and I were placed beside Varian, and Lucien was on my right. Across from us, Azriel sat beside Cresseida, with Nesta on his other side. To my surprise, even Alis was seated at the table beside Nesta, looking incredibly nervous. I caught her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile, which she returned, lacing her tree-bark fingers together. After Alis, two seats on each side of the table were committed to some of Tarquin’s advisors and court members. Then some other seats seemed to be occupied by guards or soldiers. Finally, at the far end, sat Tamlin.

It was a very clear message. That Lucien, Azriel, Nesta, and Alis would be seated nearer to the head of the table than Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring . . . it was an obvious snub, and a clear sign of distrust. I wanted to thank Tarquin, but there was no good way to do it.

Tarquin turned to me. “I am glad to see you have recovered, Lady Feyre,” he said, sincerity filling his blue eyes.

“I appreciate your healer’s tonic,” I said. “It has restored some of my strength.”

“Just as you have restored ours,” Tarquin said. He looked over everyone at the table. “Which is one of the points I wanted to discuss, so we might as well launch right in.” Tarquin’s gaze bored straight across the table to Tamlin, who locked eyes with him, green and gold meeting deep blue. There was no sign of a wound on his chest, and I felt a brief surge of nerves--only to remember that Tamlin was vastly outnumbered. Rhys and I alone could destroy him if we wanted, not to mention everyone else at the table who trusted him as far as they could throw him. Wounded or not, he would be no threat to us.

I suppressed a triumphant smile. _He couldn’t touch me_.

Rhys read my feelings through our bond, and he laid his hand over mine on the table, stroking the back of it with his thumb. _And no one ever will again_.

“Lord Tamlin, did you know that the Spring Court was unfairly taking magic that belonged to all of Prythian on Calanmai?” Lord Tarquin asked.

Claws glinted on Tamlin’s knuckles. An empty threat. “No,” he ground out.

“Did you never question why Calanmai’s magic was so unevenly distributed?”

“No.”

“Tamlin doesn’t question tradition,” I said, my voice coming out clear and regal--and cutting. “There is plenty I would like to blame him for, but Calanmai goes back long before he was a High Lord.”

Tarquin gave a thoughtful noise, his mouth tight. “Lady Feyre, do you mind clarifying for my court exactly what transpired between you and the white stag?”

“She interfered with a sacred ritual,” Tamlin spat. “She took what was not hers.”

“I did not,” I argued, and the words thankfully came out firm rather than petulant. “I took nothing from the stag except what he willingly gave. I refused to sacrifice him, knowing that the magic would go straight to the king of Hybern and result in the Wall being destroyed.”

Tarquin looked back at Tamlin. “Did you agree to work with the King of Hybern to provide him with the magic of Calanmai?”

Tamlin said nothing, but he did not look away. Tarquin nodded once, as Tamlin’s silence was answer enough. “I had hoped that my information was wrong. I wanted to like you, Tamlin. I had hoped we might be allies one day.” He looked at Rhys and me quickly and I forced myself not to blush at the remembered betrayal there. “But it seems I put my trust in the correct people, and so I cannot say I am surprised.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tamlin demanded.

Tarquin smiled warmly at Alis. “Alis’s sister was one of my cousin’s most trusted informants during his reign as High Lord. When our court fell to Amarantha and was summoned away Under the Mountain, Alis was one of the few who remained who could tell us what was happening in the world outside. Through her own methods that I still do not quite understand, she was able to tell us when Tamlin gave up searching for an end to the curse, when Lady Feyre arrived, and other important goings-on outside of Amarantha’s court. It is because of her that I attempted rebellion--Alis’s information made it possible. It failed, but I owe a great deal to her.”

I looked at Alis in wonder. She studied her laced fingers intensely, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, but I could tell from the set of her shoulders that she was proud of herself, and what she had done. She ought to be. I had known she was brave, but . . . my heart swelled with affection.

“Alis was the one who suggested to Lucien that I would be open to hearing about Hybern’s activities,” Tarquin continued. “And so, when Lucien was off _hunting_ for Lady Feyre”-- Tarquin’s face hardened with distaste--“he would often make stops in Adriata, warning me of the coming fight and of the role Tamlin was playing in Hybern’s activities.”

Tamlin had gone deathly still, and so had Lucien. But while Tamlin’s face was hard with fury, Lucien’s was smooth with nobility. He did not look at Tamlin, but neither did he flinch away or cringe from the look of wrath that was fixed on him.

“You betrayed me,” Tamlin hissed. “After _all I did for you_ \--”

“No, Tam, you betrayed us,” Lucien said, finally fixing his golden eye on his former High Lord. “You swore to protect us all, to fight against monsters like Hybern, and yet you welcomed him into your territory with open arms. You brought war, when you promised peace.” He grit his teeth and inhaled deeply through his nose before continuing, “I’ll never stop being thankful for your protection from my family,” he said carefully, “but I have paid my debt to you. Again and again. It’s finished.”

“You were my friend,” Tamlin breathed, his voice hoarse.

Lucien flinched only a little. He said, “To be honest, Tam, I don’t think either of us are entirely sure what friendship is. I think I’ve started to figure it out”--he gave me a quick look with his metal eye and a twitch of his clever mouth, causing me to grip his hand under the table--”but I’m not sure you have. And I’m sorry.”

“I think we’ve heard all we need to hear from Lord Tamlin,” Tarquin said. “Please escort him out until we decide the best course of action.”

“I am a _High Lord_ ,” Tamlin growled, “not some prisoner to be hauled in and out of your presence when you please, Tarquin!”

“The way I see it, you _are_ my prisoner, Tamlin,” Tarquin said, completely unruffled. “You entered my territory without prior permission and have caused harm to my friends, as well as my court. There is no courtesy between us.” Tarquin nodded as his guards, who approached Tamlin to heard him out of the room. His claws were in full sight, but still he made no move to harm anyone. He was a leashed animal, at the mercy of a foreign court.

As my eyes fixed on his departing back, I thought that it t almost hurt to see him so disgraced.

Almost.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor NSFW stuff at the end of this chapter.

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

The atmosphere noticeably eased when Tamlin left the room. There was still tension over matters left to be addressed, but the universal distrust of Tamlin had put everyone on edge.

Tarquin snapped his fingers and summoned a selection of summer wines. Rhys and I declined, citing my recovery--neither of us mentioning what had happened the last time I had been served wine in a foreign court. Tarquin did not seem bothered, and he sipped at his own glass of wine before taking a deep breath and moving into the next matter.

“On the Cauldron,” he said carefully, his gaze fixing on Nesta, who met it with no fear. “I confess I have little to no knowledge on the whole matter.”

“Hybern found it and stole its missing pieces from the temples across Prythian,” Rhys explained. “I am not sure the extent of his plans with it, but he did promise the six mortal queens immortality. He proved his ability to do it by turning Feyre’s sisters into High Fae.” He paused as though waiting to see if Nesta had anything to add, but she just continued staring down Tarquin. “In the chaos of the past few weeks, we have been unable to find out exactly how the Making of Nesta and Elain affected them. We do not yet know the extent of their talents. However, the . . . affinity of the Cauldron for Nesta came as a surprise to all of us.”

“Nesta, what happened?” I asked gently.

Her eyes slid to me, her face cool and even. “I am not sure I know how to explain it,” she said. “I don’t even understand . . . myself.” Her eyes fell to her hands. “The only thing I thought of was protecting you and the others, and suddenly I was steel. Hybern is . . . Hybern is strong, so he was able to rip apart my shield. But when he did . . . something latched onto me. I couldn’t see it. I only felt it come to me from his side, attach itself to me. I didn’t know what it was until Hybern took Mor and left it behind.”

“You still have it?” Rhys asked.

Nesta nodded. “Yes. It’s . . . hiding. I’m not hiding it, but it’s . . . away.” The same word she had used at the border. “I think if I tried hard enough I could convince it to appear, but it’s . . . I don’t like being near it.” Her lips pressed together and she swallowed, looking vaguely ill.

“I sensed something different, when you were Made,” I told her. “You fought so hard, Nesta. You took more than the Cauldron wanted to give, so now . . . I think it’s bound to you. I can’t begin to explain how, but you’re connected to it.”

“I didn’t ask for that,” Nesta snapped. “I want it _gone_. Is there a way to get rid of it?”

Rhys grimaced. “Not that I know of, but . . .”

“But?” Tarquin asked, eyebrows lifting.

Rhysand sighed. “There may be an answer in the Book of Breathings.”

A ripple moved through us all as our crime was finally spoken out loud. “Why did you take the Book, Rhys?” Tarquin asked quietly, his body tense.

“We wanted to nullify the Cauldron’s power so that the King of Hybern would be unable to use it,” Rhys said. ‘

“You could have told me that,” Tarquin said.

“I wish I had,” Rhys said honestly, “but I was afraid. Afraid that Hybern would learn of our activities and turn his attention to us, to you, too soon. I deeply regret what we did.”

“I want it back,” Tarquin said matter-of-factly. “Where is it now?”

“It is not in my possession,” Rhys said, “but it is safe.”

Tarquin’s expression darkened. “Lord Rhysand, I want to move past this. But if you refuse to return what has been stolen . . .”

“We’ll return it,” I said, and Rhys looked at me. “We want to move past this, too, Tarquin. But now my sisters are tangled up with things. The Cauldron is bound to Nesta, and I do not know what danger that puts her in. Our Third in Command is being held hostage, and it is very possible that the fate of Prythian depends on that Book. There’s only one person in Prythian who can read it, and the Book is currently in her possession. I would . . . I would be most comfortable if the Book remained there until Hybern is no longer a threat.” I let out a long breath, and Rhys squeezed my hand.

Tarquin said nothing for a long moment, but Varian blurted, “Tarquin, you can’t be seriously considering this!” Varian glared at me. “The Book is the Summer Court’s responsibility. Are you going to let the Night Court steal it like it stole Calanmai?”

I stiffened and set my jaw. “Calanmai was _given_ , not stolen. I believe I made that quite clear,” I said.

“The Book was _not_ given,” Varian argued. “You have no right to it, and while it certainly needs to be kept away from Hybern, that does not make you its guardian.”

“Varian,” Tarquin said quietly, giving his captain of the guard a hard look. “Lord Rhysand and Lady Feyre are being very open about the circumstances surrounding the Book. I believe they are doing what they can to protect it. My one concern pertains to who exactly is guarding it.”

Rhys’s mouth turned up at the corner. “That would be my Second, whom you met at our last visit.”

Varian’s eyes widened. “ _Her_?” he asked. “She can read the Book?”

“Yes, and thanks to her we were almost successful in nullifying the Cauldron on Hybern before we were ambushed,” Rhys said.

Nesta blinked. “Could she separate me from the Cauldron?” she asked. “If she can read the Book, could she find a way to free me from it?” Her voice was the most desperate I had ever heard it.

Tarquin seemed to notice, too, and he let out a long sigh. “Very well. Keep the Book. I certainly trust that it is secure in your court, and I don’t need it for anything besides to ensure it is safe. Use it for what you need, and then return it to me.”

A relieved smile spread across my face. “Thank you, Tarquin.”

He looked at me seriously. “Do not let me regret this, Lady Feyre.”

Varian made a small noise of disgust, but he did not argue any further.

“All that remains is knowing exactly what Hybern is planning and what we can do to stop it,” Tarquin said.

“And get Mor back,” I said.

“Of course.”

“With the Cauldron bound to Nesta,” Rhys said, “he has likely been slowed down significantly. I do not know how long it will take him to figure out where the Cauldron has gone, but he may very well lash out in anger and whatever he can hit the hardest.”

Tarquin grimaced. “I would hazard a guess that my court is likely on his list?”

“He did see you at the border helping us,” Rhys confirmed grimly.

“I’ll fortify my border.” He looked up at us. “Is there any possibility you have forces to spare? To . . . further demonstrate your goodwill?”

Rhys and I glanced at each other. “I do,” Rhys said. “My commander is currently injured, however, and I am not sure how well his healing is coming along.”

“What happened?” Tarquin asked.

Ice filled Rhys’s gaze, though it was not directed at anyone in the room. “Hybern shredded his wings.”

Cresseida gasped and even Varian looked troubled.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tarquin said sincerely.

“There’s also the matter that you’ve banned him for eternity.”

Cresseida’s brown eyes widened and she leaned forward. “The one who wrecked the Pinnacle of Adriata?”

“You remember,” Rhys said mildly.

“What was the Pinnacle of Adriata?” I asked.

“A lighthouse,” Tarquin said. “One built by the very first High Lord of Summer.”

I made a disgusted noise and turned to look at Rhys. “Cassian _would_ do something like that, wouldn’t he?” I met Cresseida’s eyes. “I don’t blame you for banning him.”

Tarquin cleared his throat. “It’s Cresseida’s call if she wants to invite him back. We could certainly use the help, and if Summer and Night are going to be allies, then perhaps it is best to turn over a new leaf entirely and start from scratch. That is my take, but again, Cresseida, it’s up to you.”

Cresseida’s jaw twitched and she sat back, drumming her fingers on the table, creating a series of clicks. “How injured is he, exactly?”

Amusement flickered across Rhys’s face. “Still very grounded.”

A long moment of quiet followed. Finally, Cresseida said, “He is not to set foot in Adriata. Borderlands only. That goes for his fighters, as well.”

Rhys only nodded, but I could feel the relief trickle down the bond between us.

“On one condition,” Cresseida continued, and Rhys stiffened again. “Have your Second come too, and bring the Book with her.”

Rhys’s lips parted and his nostrils flared, but Cresseida had woven the bargain perfectly. He couldn’t deny her, not without sounding as though he was not sincere about our promises concerning the Book. “I am a bit concerned about having both the Cauldron and the Book so near to where Hybern is located,” he confessed, and I nodded.

Cresseida’s smile was serpentine. “Are you suggesting this court is not secure?” she purred.

The skin around Rhys’s mouth went a shade paler, but again, she had trapped him. I could tell both from his grip on my hand and from our bond that it pissed him off, too. “Fine,” he ground out.

“How soon can your forces get here?” Tarquin asked.

“We can go tomorrow and be back in a matter of days,” Rhys said.

“How many of you plan on going?” Varian asked. “Not all of you, surely? How could we ensure that you’ll come back at all?”

“I’ll stay,” Azriel said without hesitating, his bass voice a stark contrast to the tenor of the Summer Court men. “I’ll monitor Hybern’s activities until my Lord and Lady return.” The look in his eyes told me that he would be searching for Mor above and beyond anything else.

“I’ll stay as well, Tarquin,” Lucien said, and I looked at him in surprise. I had thought for sure he would have wanted to see Velaris, meet Elain . . . but perhaps he wasn’t ready yet.

“Very well. You are welcome to tour the grounds as you please,” Tarquin said. “The estate is well-guarded. Rest for the day and join us for dinner tonight, and depart at your convenience tomorrow.”

Rhysand and I nodded. “Thank you, Tarquin,” I said.

Tarquin raised his glass to us, and Rhysand summoned to filled glasses for the two of us. Tarquin said, “To new alliances.”

Rhys smiled tightly. “To Prythian.”

Our glasses struck together and a new future was wrought.

-

Rhys and I took some time to ourselves that afternoon, letting our minds ease from the chaos and tension of the past few days. We didn’t say much for a long time, only basked in each other’s company as we strolled through the summer grasses, our fingers laced together. His thumb stroked the heel of my palm, along the swirls of the tattoo stained there.

“This is not at all how I expected things to go,” he confessed, “and I can’t decide whether I’m glad about it.”

“We have allies now,” I said, trying to think positively about it.

“But at what cost?” Rhys asked, darkness filling his eyes. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure I trust Cresseida.”

“Did you read something from her?” I asked.

Rhys shook his head slightly. “She has admirable shields, and I did not want to risk being detected. But the way she manipulated me . . .” His grip tightened on my hand.

“It’s hard not being the smartest one in the room, isn’t it?” I crooned, kissing his cheek.

He grinned and said, “Oh, I’m definitely smarter. She just got lucky.”

“Arrogant as always,” I said lightly, continuing our stroll.

He stopped me when he did not follow along, and when I turned to face him he stepped smoothly in front of me, closing the distance between us. “Feyre,” he sighed, running his knuckles along my cheek. My focus narrowed to the brush of his skin against mine, the rest of the lush forest blurring around us. I turned my face just slightly to touch my lips to his hand as it brushed near. His hand paused and his fingers uncurled, their tips resting on my mouth.

“One thought for another,” I murmured, invoking our old game. Perhaps it would help clear the burden of unspoken words between us.

Rhysand’s thumb brushed my mouth before his hand cradled my cheek. “I’m thinking that I was terrified the whole time you were away from me--terrified that one morning I would wake up and that bond wouldn’t be there anymore, that you’d be dead.” He swallowed. “Or that I would fail to save you on Calanmai and he would hurt you.”

I raised my hand to hold his forearm, my thumb stroking the paler skin at his wrist. He closed his eyes and smiled. “I’m thinking that seeing you there on Calanmai was the most incredible moment of my life--more than dying, more than being resurrected. Seeing _you_ there--the world could have ended and I would have been happy because you were with me.”

Rhys leaned close to me and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m thinking,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, “that sometimes I wish the world had ended so that we could be certain that nothing would ever hurt us again.”

I swallowed. Darker thoughts. But this was good. I needed this, too. “I’m thinking that I’m a monster,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. “I killed Ianthe. And I don’t feel bad about it at all.”

Rhys’s hands moved to wrap around my body and pull me close to him as he kissed my forehead. “Feyre, you’re not a monster. At least, not any more than I am.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Rhys laughed in his throat. “I know.” He bent down and swept an arm behind my knees, lowering us both to the ground. He laid me on my back and kissed my lips, then my throat, then the skin on my chest. With slow, careful fingers, he pulled apart the opening in my wrapped dress, revealing my silk undergarments and the skin of my abdomen. He let out a growl of approval before pressing long, deep kisses up and down my torso, applying his tongue to my skin. When he kissed me just below my navel, I gasped as the heat rose within me, the tug of my desire begging him to go on, but . . .

His fingers hooked in my undergarments, but I laid my hand over his. “Rhys,” I whispered. “Not now. Please.”

His lust-clouded violet eyes met mine, and when he saw the plea there, he instantly pulled back, sitting on his heels. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I sat up, taking his hand in mine. “No. Don’t apologize. It’s just . . . I really need to talk right now. If I don’t, I know I’m going to bottle it up and never face it and . . . well, we know how well that’s worked for me in the past.”

Rhys smiled gently, releasing a small huff of breath from his nose. He wrapped my hand in both of his and lifted it to his lips to kiss. “Then let’s talk,” he said. He shifted his position and gathered me onto his lap, his fingers tracing the shell of my ear as he listened to me talk about what had happened to me on Calanmai, how wild and unlike myself I’d felt. Had it really been me to kill Ianthe, or some will of the magic coursing within me? Was it possible that I could lose control like that again, hurt other people without meaning to? What did it even mean for my magic to be a High Lady?

Rhys listened, lovingly stroking my body as I talked. He listened like no one had ever listened to me before, and when I was done he answered my questions, admitting to what he didn’t know and assuring me that we would find the answers together.

And when the burden of the past several days had been eased from my shoulders by his attention and love, I let him lay me across the grass and lick me until I was moaning his name.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M! NSFW content to be found in this chapter.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

We met privately with Azriel before dinner. The shadowsinger’s face was as even as ever, but I could detect the unrest in his eyes, the hard set of his mouth. Even his shadows were agitated, flitting rather than flowing around his face.

“Have you heard anything?” I asked him. I didn’t have to elaborate--he knew what I meant.

Azriel’s lips pulled back from his teeth just slightly. “Nothing specific. Only that Hybern and Jurian have made themselves quite at home in Tamlin’s manor. I can’t see inside--it’s too well warded.” And I knew from the steel in his eyes that it was killing him, being unable to see what was happening to Mor inside those walls. I thought about it too--had thought about it on my way back inside with Rhys this afternoon, wondering if I should feel guilty for being with Rhys when Mor was likely suffering. I _did_ feel guilty--the realization that I had been moaning with pleasure this afternoon while she was likely in torment . . . it was festering in my gut, filling my blood with bitter conviction.

A part of me reminded myself that Mor would think that was ridiculous--or at least I hoped she would. So I tried to banish the guilt, to remind myself that Rhys and I deserved those moments, that Mor wouldn’t blame us for them.

I wasn’t entirely successful.

But I clung to Rhys’s arm anyway as we listened to the information Azriel had been able to glean. “Come back as soon as you can,” Azriel said, the plea tightening his throat, making his voice smaller.

“We will,” I promised. Rhys and I had both discussed it already and determined that we would only stay as long as was necessary to get everyone and everything we needed. As much as I missed Velaris, I knew that I would have an eternity there when this was all over. Rhys and Amren would have to fortify the shields over the city before we left, since neither of them would be there, but as soon as that task was complete, we would return to Summer and get to work freeing Mor.

Azriel nodded and slipped into the dining room. Rhys and I began to follow, but my eye caught Lucien staring out the nearby window at the setting summer sun, which tinged the tops of the oak trees pink and orange. “I’ll be right there,” I murmured to Rhys. His eyes searched my face once before he nodded and released my arm.

I stepped over to Lucien, who was clad in a Summer-style tunic--cream embroidered with gold thread. He looked rather princely in it, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I said nothing for a moment as I joined him in admiring the sunset. His metal eye glanced at me and I gave him a slight smile. His mouth twitched up in response.

“Thank you,” I finally said. “I had no idea what you did--what you’d been doing.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Lucien said. “For all I knew at the time, you were a slave to Rhys, whom I didn’t trust. Even if you weren’t, if you did break free and went back to Tamlin . . . well, he couldn’t know, either.”

“You knew Tarquin before?” I asked.

Lucien grinned. “Yes. He wasn’t High Lord yet--still just a captain on his cousin’s fleets, prince of Udara. He took me out on one of his ships once. I spent the whole time green and vomiting over the side, and he promised he’d never take me again. But I insisted on going a second time.”

“Was it any better?” I asked with a wry smile.

“Not a bit. But he admired my determination so much that he welcomed me into his palace in Udara. His was always one of my favorite places to be when Tamlin had me treat with Summer.”

I sobered. “Why did you do it? Why then?” Tarquin had said that Lucien had come to him after Nynsar--Starfall, in the Night Court. Rhys and I had already stolen the Book by then, but that was before he had tracked me to the Illyrian forest.

“It was the only thing I could think of to protect the Spring Court without openly opposing Tamlin,” Lucien said. “You were gone--and Feyre, I know you aren’t responsible for this, but you were the only thing keeping him together after Amarantha . . . not that he was particularly together then, either, but . . . he got worse after you left. Clamped down on his Court, tightened the borders. He was becoming his father. And then bargaining with Hybern on top of that . . . I didn’t want to just stand by while he single-handedly brought the Spring Court to its knees. The only tools I had were my friendships in the other courts, especially Tarquin. And Tam didn’t watch me too closely when he sent me out to look for you, so it gave me the opportunity to call in on my old friendships, just in case things got too bad. Turns out, they did.” He looked morosely out the window as darkness continued to spread over the trees.

“I’m sorry I said those things to you,” I said, thinking not just of the forest but of my earlier days back in the Spring Court. “I thought you’d given up. I didn’t realize . . .”

Lucien cut me off with a shrug. “You didn’t know. And honestly, for a while I almost had given up. It took weeks after you’d left for me to convince myself that I could do anything--to save you, to save the Spring Court. I had to tell myself that I wasn’t betraying Tamlin, that I was protecting him from himself the way he’d protected me. And I thought about all those years when Amarantha had kept us from doing anything for ourselves, anything to oppose her, and . . . I didn’t want to waste the freedom you’d brought to us, Feyre. It felt like spitting in the face of your sacrifice to sit and watch and do nothing as Hybern marched in. And, for all that you piss me off sometimes . . .” He glanced at me, a mischievous smile on his face, “I couldn’t let your fight be in vain.”

My chest was tight with emotion, a hard lump in the back of my throat. But I took Lucien’s hand in mine and squeezed it. “I was wrong,” I said. “When you said my sister was your mate . . . I was so angry. I thought then that you didn’t deserve her.” Lucien flinched. “But I was wrong, Lucien. I hope she sees in you what I do.” I squeezed his hand once more before releasing it.

Lucien swallowed. “Thank you,” he rasped.

I rolled my shoulders, thinking I could almost feel the phantom wings at my back. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I said, nudging him with my elbow.

Lucien laughed. “I’ve been smelling the cooking for hours. Let’s eat.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me ahead of him into the dining room, where I took a seat beside my mate and gave Lucien once last smile before we had our fill of Tarquin’s rich summer banquet.

-

The nightmares came that night.

They started off as they had in the Spring Court, with me being held back as I was forced to watch my sisters plunge beneath the waters of the Cauldron, forced to watch Cassian’s wings shred, forced to scream without sound as no one heard me, no one came for me . . .

But then the nightmare changed, and I had a knife in my paint-smeared hands. I felt the supple flesh of Ianthe’s body beneath my knees as I stabbed her palms, her screams ringing through my body. When I sliced open her abdomen and looked up at her face, my blood ran cold and I wanted to pull away, but my hands kept carving her up, even when I saw not Ianthe’s face, but my sisters’--first Elain, then Nesta. And I could not stop my hands from reaching for the tattooed forehead, even when the face changed again to become Rhysand’s, and I sliced open his beautiful brow, causing blood to spill down his golden face.

And I couldn’t stop myself when the face changed one last time and I was plunging the knife through my own throat.

I jolted awake, hands grappling for my throat as I felt myself choking on my own blood. I gasped for air, sobbing and shaking as I tried to see where I was, tried to fight off the weight over me, pinning me down to run me through again, again . . .

“Feyre!” The voice cut through the darkness, and I began to recognize the weight holding me down not as a phantom-me come to murder me, but my mate, hovering over me and pressing against me so that I didn’t hurt myself. The scent of citrus and jasmine wafted over my face. I gasped and hurled myself into his broad tattooed chest, letting his arms wrap around me as I cried.

“Rhys, Rhys,” I moaned, sobbing as my fingers pressed against his chest.

“Feyre, I’m here,” he said, his voice shaking. “It was a dream. We were dreaming.”

We. He’d been having a nightmare, too.

“I’m a murderer,” I cried, my words twisted in anguish. “I . . . I’m no better than Amarantha!”

Rhysand seized my shoulders and pulled me back roughly so that I was forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever say that,” he growled. “Feyre, do you hear me? You’re _nothing_ like her.”

“But I . . . I _enjoyed_ killing Ianthe,” I said, tremors wracking my body. “Just like I almost enjoyed killing Andras, and the Attor, and those men who captured you . . .”

Suddenly Rhys’s mouth was on mine, kissing me. I was too shaken to kiss back for a long moment, but then his hands started stroking my arms, my back, soothing me, wrapping me in his restful darkness, until I didn’t fear the shadows and my heart stopped racing. And my mouth moved against his, my tears and his making our lips salty.

He pulled away, and we were both still shaking, but he said, “ _This_ is who you are, Feyre. You are my mate and my queen, but more than any of that you are your own master. Your hands might not be clean and pure. Cauldron knows mine aren’t. You and I have both been to hell and back, but we’re _here_. We’re alive and we’re _trying_.” There was such urgency in his tone, such conviction, that I knew these words were for himself just as much as they were for me. Because he knew. Rhys knew _exactly_ what this felt like, grappled with it, too. He stroked his thumb over my cheeks, clearing away the tears there, saying, “Every life you’ve taken, Feyre, has saved dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of others. And you would not be feeling like this at all if you were remotely like Amarantha. The fact that you care so deeply, the fact that you mourn your enemies . . . it just shows how superior to all of us you are. And it’s one of the many reasons that I love you.” He leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth.

I let out a shuddering breath and then drew his lips onto mine, losing myself for a few moments in the sureness of him, the rhythm of our kiss. He pressed against me and lowered me back onto the pillows, his warm weight covering me as our legs tangled together and my arms wrapped around his back. I opened my mouth to him and he swept in with his tongue, his thumb and fingers stroking the hair away from my forehead and cupping my cheek in his hand.

“What would I do without you?” I murmured when his mouth traveled to my jaw and my neck. Our hips were pressed flush together and I could feel the heat building in my core as he slowly began to roll his hips against me.

“You would have a lot less fun, that’s for sure,” he purred into my ear.

“Rhys,” I moaned, my fingers contracting against his back.

There he was, hard against me, and I wanted him. And I felt guilty for wanting him--not like I had before, when it had been fear of my own faithlessness that had held me back. I was still so broken, and I wasn’t sure I was getting better . . . but _Rhys_. Hell, the way he moved against me, moved in me . . . I didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve _him_.

Rhys growled against my throat even as he continued to grind against me, “We deserve each other, Feyre. You told me that once.”

I had. And I wanted to believe it so badly that when he pulled my underthings down around my knees, I didn’t stop him. And I didn’t stop him when he turned us over onto our sides, one hand grabbing my backside while the other palmed my back.

“Let me fill you, darling,” he said, his sultry voice melting my bones and all of my inhibitions at once.

“Yes,” I sighed, and I released a long, full moan when he slid himself inside me, slow and deep, stretching me and filling me, forging us together. I writhed against him, arching my back as his palm burned against it and his lips found my throat.

He pulled out, not all the way, only to slide in again, just as slow and deep and passionate as the first time. Then he did it again. And again.

“Rhys,” I gasped, and I realized I was crying--not because of him. I made sure he knew through our bond that the tears were not a sign that I wanted him to stop. They were cleansing tears, and as we moved against each other I let all the hurt and guilt and pain drain out of me, letting him fill me instead with love, hope, and goodness. Comfort. Our shadows swirled in the moonlit air above us, twisting together in a lovely ebony dance, reminding me that the night could be frightening and the night could be terrible, but as Rhys had once told me, it could also be soothing. Restful. The darkness of lovers, which we cloaked ourselves in now. It was not wholly bad or good, he had said then, when I had first faced the pain of what I had done to those faeries Under the Mountain.

Perhaps that was me, too. Perhaps it was Rhys. Not wholly bad or good, like the darkness that obeyed us. And maybe that was why we were its masters, because we could step into the dark and make it out again, survive what so few others could. And while we we there, maybe we could fill the night with stars.

At that thought, glittering dust filled our darkness, and I tightened around Rhys as he thrust into me more insistently, his hand sliding between us to brush against the nerves at the apex of my thighs. We were both gasping, panting, as we fused with each other, strengthening each other. And when at last Rhys pressed his thumb in exactly the right spot, the room filled with starlight and he let out a sound that began as a rumble in his chest before erupting from his lips in a roar. I cried out as he released himself in me and my own pleasure rocked me. Our mouths collided in a wild kiss as we worked each other through the last waves of it, until at last we slumped against each other, sweat-slicked and panting.

“You heal me, Rhys,” I said when I finally had the breath. “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

He took a moment to pull out of me, adjusting himself so he could look into my eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“The moment you first pulled me out of the Spring Court, you began doing what no one had ever tried to do for me before . . . not even me. I was so empty . . . so empty that I couldn’t feel anything at all. But you brought that back into my life. You talk about my mortal heart, how I can feel in ways other Fae can’t, but . . . that’s because of you. My mortal heart would be in tatters without you. You saw the broken pieces and you put them back together. You _healed_ me, Rhys, and you still do. Every day.”

A tear slipped down his face before he kissed my forehead. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you that you were my salvation, Feyre,” he said, and I realized he was thinking all the way back to the night before the Weaver, months ago. “You healed me, too. You gave me something to live for and brought the stars back into my night. And I don’t think even an eternity of loving you will be enough to thank you for that.”

I smiled at him and pressed a light kiss to his lips. When I pulled back, I said, “Well, I suppose it’s a good place to start.”

He laughed, and the beautiful sound filled my heart and set it to singing. And when he tucked me into his chest, his hand cradling the back of my head, I fell into the sweetest, dreamless sleep I’d had in weeks.

-

When we went down to breakfast the next morning, the ache between my legs a striking reminder of the night before, we found Nesta on fire.

“Nesta!” I cried, racing to her across the dining room. She saw me and extinguished immediately, though flames still lit her eyes. “What is going on?” I demanded, looking to Varian who stood staunchly before Nesta, looking only slightly unsettled.

Azriel, who lurked nearby, stepped forward to say, “Varian wants Nesta to stay here with the Cauldron. He and Cresseida decided overnight that Lucien and I staying was not enough to assure them that you would return as promised.”

“I want to see my sister!” Nesta hissed, glaring at Varian with murder on her face.

“Your sister is right here,” Varian said mildly, raising his eyebrows.

“ _I have another sister, you prick_!” Nesta shrieked.

“Nesta,” I said sharply, warning in my voice. “You know Elain is safe.”

“I want to see her,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

“You will,” I said. “We’ll bring her here.”

Nesta’s face snapped to mine. “No.”

“She’ll be just as safe here as . . . there,” I said, glancing at Varian. I was not sure whether or not he knew about Velaris, and I wouldn’t chance it. “Amren and Cassian will both be coming here, leaving Elain alone there. We’ll bring her here, and you can protect her yourself.”

The fire in Nesta’s eyes dimmed slightly. “You promise?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Of course.” I looked her up and down. “So . . . fire?”

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl as she looked back at Varian. “When I’m angry.”

“Varian, if you would excuse us,” I said to the captain of the guard. My expression told him I was not to be challenged, and he stalked off to another part of the manor. I guided my sister to the stone patio outside the dining room, where we took a seat on wrought-iron chairs. Lesser fae soon brought us breakfast, and I made sure to thank them. They looked startled and scurried off, but through their unshielded minds I felt flickers of gratitude. “You were never one for outbursts,” I remarked when we were alone. Rhys had told me through our minds that we would eat elsewhere and give me a moment with my sister. I could sense him off a ways greeting Lucien and Tarquin.

“I know,” Nesta said bitterly. “I can’t stop them. It builds and builds, this . . . rage. And then I’m on fire.”

“I’ve experienced something similar,” I said, holding my hand in the air and summoning tiny flames on the tips of my fingers. “I can control it now, but sometimes when I’m angry I can feel it under my skin.” I put out the flames and took a bite of the flaky fruit pastry that had been brought to me.

“It’s like a wave crashing over me,” Nesta said, looking off over the grasses, which shifted in the breeze, her fingers working on the peel of an orange. “It was the same with the steel. It was all encompassing. The only thing I could feel was the desire to protect. Just like when I’m on fire . . . the _only thing_ I can feel is anger.”

“Perhaps it’s the influence of the Cauldron,” I said.

“I don’t want it,” Nesta griped. “I hate feeling . . . out of control. I hate being overwhelmed with these . . . feelings.” She popped a slice of orange into her mouth.

“I know,” I said. I was quiet for a moment, eating a bit more breakfast before I asked, “Has it been only fire and steel?”

Nesta hesitated. “I’m not sure. There was a moment, when I was bathing last night. All I could think about was Elain, and how lonely she must be, and how I had failed her, and . . . I think I just disappeared into the bath. Like I was water, too.”

“You haven’t failed her, Nesta,” I said. “You’re both alive, and in one piece. I am the one who failed you both. It’s my fault that they knew about you, how much I cared about you. They knew that the best way to torture me would be to hurt you and keep me from doing anything to stop it.” A hard lump formed in my throat, but I burned it away with a swig of tea.

“They did this to torture _you_?” Nesta asked, and I knew there were layers to her question. Why was I important enough to torture? Why had hurting them been the way to do it? I cared about them enough for it to matter? Why did she and Elain have to suffer just because my enemies wanted to affect me?

“Yes, and I’m sorry. I wish I could go back and never tell Ianthe a thing about you. I wish I could undo it.”

A dark smile darted across Nesta’s face, gone in an instant. “Well, you did kill her for us. Rather splendidly, from what I heard.”

I let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s a matter of opinion,” I said with a grimace.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys said, stepping out onto the patio. My stomach swooped at the sight of him, handsome in his fine dark tunic, his posture so at ease, hand in his pocket. His mouth crooked up in a smile. “Are you ready to go home?”

I glanced at Nesta, who said with a sigh, “I’ll stay here. I’ll use the time to get the sense of this Lucien that you and everyone else speaks so highly of.” I snorted and Nesta looked hard at me. “Bring Elain back soon.”

“I will, I promise,” I said, standing to my feet. I smiled just a bit at her before strolling across the patio to my mate’s outstretched arm. And I smiled broader as the shadows folded around us and the wind whooshed through our hair as, at long last, we winnowed back to Velaris. To our home.

Only, it didn’t look quite like our home when we landed.

Because, sprouting from doors, windows, trailing across the ground, twining around lampposts and archways, on houses up and down the street, were splashes of color that certainly had not been there when we left. And it wasn’t until the scent assaulted my nose that I realized just exactly what they were.

Flowers.


	22. Chapter 22

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Rhys’s nostrils flared and the skin around his mouth went pale. “ _Who turned my city into the damned Spring Court_?” he demanded, though no one was there to answer him.

I for one couldn’t stop smiling, because I knew exactly what this was.

Elain had figured out just what the Cauldron had given her.

We approached Elain’s townhome, Rhys snarling at the flowers like a disgruntled cat the whole way.

“Relax, it’s not that bad,” I teased.

Rhys just growled and stalked up to the door, pounding on it.

“Oh, stop!” I scolded, shoving him away from the door, which had ivy dripping over the archway, small white flowers dotting the green.

The doorway opened and Elain appeared. “Feyre!” she gasped, and she threw herself at me.

I staggered at her now immortal strength, but when I righted myself I wrapped my arms around her, too. “Elain,” I sighed, breathing her in. She smelled like a walking flower herself--peonies were the dominant scent, I realized.

Elain pulled away from me and looked me over, just as I did the same to her. “Are you all right?” she asked. “They told me what you did--how you went back there, even though you didn’t want to.”

I nodded. “I’m all in one piece,” I confirmed. “You seem to have been . . . busy.”

Elain blushed, looking lovelier than ever. Her beautiful mortal face was enhanced by her new Fae body, her ears now pointed, her features more symmetrical. Her long golden-brown hair, the same shade as mine, fell over her shoulders and to her waist in loose curls, and I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it unpinned like that. Flowers were woven through her hair like a crown, and her eye color was brighter--like rich, loamy soil. To my surprise, she wore Night Court attire--a peach-colored ensemble that showed a bit of tanned skin at her midriff. She’d obviously been spending a lot of time in the sun, as her skin glowed and her freckles were on full display. In the mortal world she would have worn hats and scarves and gloves, everything she could to keep her complexion pale. But this coloring looked like who she was meant to be. My brow furrowed as I came to the conclusion that Elain looked like she had been meant to be Fae.

Elain held up her hand to show me tiny vines twisted around her fingers, constantly in motion, caressing her hand. “It started after Nesta left,” she said. “It’s . . . I haven’t quite learned how to get it to stop.” She blinked and blushed even more as a pink rose bloomed in her palm.

“Well, that explains the neighborhood,” Rhys said gruffly, eyeing the rose.

“Yes, I . . . well, I ran out of room in the house, so I started selling them to the neighbors. It’s was Amren’s idea.”

Rhys straightened, his expression stunned. “Amren?”

Elain’s eyes scanned Rhys’s face, and her pretty mouth twisted in amusement. “She’s not so fond of them, either,” she said. “So she thought of a way to help me get rid of them.”

“They make me sneeze,” Amren confirmed, materializing from another room of the house. Her face broke into a wide grin when she saw both of us and her feline silver eyes flashed. “Good to see you both still alive.” Her look told me that she hadn’t expected anything less. She turned and fixed her piercing stare on me. “I’ll kill you if you ever pull anything like that again.”

Rhys growled, not appreciating the humor, and his arm snaked around my waist protectively.

Amren rolled her eyes. “Relax, High Lord. You know I don’t mean most of my death threats.” I leveled my stare at her and she sighed. “Fine. I do mean most of them, but not this one. You’re my High Lady now. I wouldn’t--Cauldron boil me. _Never mind_ , you stiffs!” She waved a hand irritably.

I finally cracked a grin. Rhys’s finger traced a tiny circle on my hip, the only sign that his mood had shifted.

Amren finally noticed that we were the only two there. “Where’s everyone else?” she asked, her posture straightening and stiffening.

Rhys’s face went grim, but he said, “Azriel and Nesta are safe with Tarquin . . . who has revoked our blood rubies, by the way.”

“I noticed that had gone missing,” Amren said coolly. She refused to be deterred. “And Mor?”

Rhys’s face went taut with pain, so I said, “Hybern has her.”

Amren’s eyes went wide, her nostrils flared, and before anyone could blink Rhys had seized Elain’s arm and mine and winnowed us down the street. I looked back up at the house, but I saw nothing--felt nothing.

“Rhys?” I asked.

He stared back at the house, his expression fathomless. “Amren is not very pleasant when she’s angry.” He glanced at Elain, and I understood. He didn’t want to frighten her. So I opened my mind to him, and his voice drifted in. _Amren’s power is . . . complex. Complex and very, very deadly._

 _In what way?_ I asked.

_I’ve never really wanted to find out. Only, when she releases it, people die. Immediately. Just as a consequence of being near her when she’s raging._

_You’ve seen it happen._

_Once, and never again._

I trembled, but Rhys looped his arm around my waist and said, “She’ll be a while. Why don’t we go visit our poor, injured commander?”

“Doesn’t sound like much of an improvement to me,” I muttered, and Rhys chuckled.

We were only a few doors down from his townhome, so it was a quick walk to his front door. He knocked, and I saw Nuala peer out the window, her face breaking into a smile at the sight of him before she opened the door. She sketched a quick bow to him--to us--and ushered us in. Her hand brushed my shoulder in welcome, and I offered her a smile.

Nuala had barely opened her mouth to tell Cassian we’d arrived when he came barrelling into the foyer, his face open and desperate. He froze, looking us up and down, immediately scanning us for injury or harm. When he was satisfied that we were unharmed, he bared his teeth in a delighted grin. “You two look damn good,” he said, sighing in relief. His eyes saw Elain just beside us. “You as well, Lady Elain.” She smiled timidly, but she did not shrink away from the hulking commander.

“You’re up and about,” Rhys said, sounding pleased.

“At last,” Cassian muttered. “They let me up two days after you’d left. Still hurts like hell, but at least I’m not going to bring the walls down out of sheer boredom any time soon.”

Rhys’s mouth twisted. “Thanks so much,” he said wryly.

“You’re really all right?” I asked, sounding more breathless than I’d intended.

“Worried about me, Feyre?” he said with a wink. He turned to show me his wings. Much of the membrane nearest the bones and muscles had healed over, though it was still noticeably thinner than the rest. The ends of the membrane were still a bit tattered, but overall there was a huge improvement from the last time I’d seen him.

“How long until you’re flying again?” I asked.

Cassian’s expression soured. “Weeks yet, the healers say. The membrane’s too weak to support me.”

“Probably can’t handle your big head,” I teased.

He grinned, and I realized for the first time just how pointed his canines were. He looked from Rhys to me and crossed his arms over his hulking chest. “I feel like the two of you have a lot to share. Where’s Amren?”

“She’s having a _moment_ ,” Rhys said, giving Cassian a look, and Cassian grimaced. “We have good news and bad, so you might want to sit down.”

“I was just going out,” Cassian said, but he shrugged. “How about the roof?”

Rhys sighed, grinning despite himself. “Roof it is.”

We climbed out onto the tiles, Cassian offering Elain his arm for balance, and we spread out, soaking up the heat and the breeze from the sea. Elain had sprouted another flower, this one a pansy, and she plucked it from her hand and sent it blowing away into the breeze.

“Good news or bad news first?” Rhys asked.

Cassian considered. “I’m guessing Amren got the bad news first?” Rhys nodded. “Then good news.”

“The good news,” I said, “is that we were able to stop Hybern from acquiring additional magic. He was going to steal the magic of the white stag, but I stopped it.”

“Stopped it how?” Cassian asked.

“I spared the stag, and in exchange it helped balance the magic of the courts. Turns out Spring has been taking an unfair portion for some time now.”

“That explains it,” Cassian breathed.

“Explains what?” Rhys asked.

“We all felt it here,” Cassian said. “The magic . . . returning. It lingered in the air for a while, working itself into the city, into the land and mountains. The shield over Velaris is stronger. And honestly . . . some of my best healing happened that night.”

Rhys looked at me just as I looked at him and he smiled at me warmly. “Calanmai belongs to the Night Court now,” I continued. “Another gift from the stag.”

Cassian whistled. “Damn, Feyre,” he said, sounding impressed.

“She is quite the High Lady, isn’t she?”

Cassian’s eyes went wide. “Cauldron boil me, I forgot,” he said. He opened his mouth, probably about to make some sort of pledge, but I held my hand up.

“Save it,” I said. “I know. Besides, unlike some people, I don’t need my pride stroked all the time.”

Rhys snorted, then leaned closer to me, grinning like a cat and then licking his teeth. “You weren’t complaining about being stroked last night,” he purred.

Cassian threw his head back and roared with laughter as I punched Rhysand’s arm. Rhys caught my fist in his hand before I could pull it away and pressed a kiss to the back of it. I huffed, my eyes gleaming, my lips pressed together to suppress my smile.

Elain looked positively scandalized by the whole exchange, but she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t help but think she would be very uncomfortable if the whole group ever got together in front of her.

“Is that all the good news?” Cassian asked.

I shook my head. “No. We have an ally in Lucien, now. He’s officially part of the Night Court, if he’ll formally accept my offer. He’s . . . well, he’s being a bit stubborn about the whole thing, but I can’t say I don’t understand. We’ve made up with Tarquin and Azriel and Nesta are currently under his protection, waiting for our return.”

“Why didn’t they come back here?” Elain asked.

“Good and bad news,” I said. “Well, we’re not sure which. It turns out that the Cauldron has attached itself to Nesta. We’re not sure of all that entails yet, but it does mean that the King of Hybern no longer has it.”

Elain went stiff at the reminder of the Cauldron, what it had done to her, but she shook it off and said, “Good. It’s good that he doesn’t have it anymore.” I nodded.

“Now for the bad news,” Rhys said, his voice dropping low.

Cassian braced his arms on his powerful thighs, readying himself.

“Hybern has Mor.”

Cassian choked and his hazel eyes went wide. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?” he rasped.

“Hybern almost recaptured me,” I said, “but Mor stopped him. He winnowed away with her before I could save her.”

Cassian’s body went still in lethal calm--the eye of a storm. “What is happening to her?”

“We don’t know,” Rhys gritted out. “She’s in the Spring Court, still, and alive. I can figure that much, but he’s warded her well and my gifts can’t break through to get more details. Azriel has been searching for a way in ever since--I don’t think he’s slept much at all.”

“Why aren’t we in there after her already?” Cassian demanded.

“Because we need _you_ , my friend,” Rhys said, and Cassian’s eyes flashed. “We had to play politics with Tarquin, Cresseida, and Varian, but they have agreed to let you back into the Summer Court with some of your men to help defend their border against Hybern. It will also give you a good access point from which to stage our rescue. But, as I said, we had to play politics. One of the conditions was that Amren come with the Book of Breathings. She doesn’t have to hand it over yet, not until after the war is over, but they want to have it nearby.”

“Varian just misses me.”

I looked up and saw Amren walked across the roof. I hadn’t heard her arrive, or smelled her. She was just _there_ , and I didn’t dare ask how. She sank onto the tiles, seemingly over her _moment_ , as Rhysand had called it, as casual as a snow leopard on its mountain perch.

“Do I need to go over anything?” Rhys asked quietly.

“No, I heard everything,” Amren said, inspecting her nails as though she hadn’t just unleashed a deadly magic on my sister’s townhouse--which I had no idea the condition of now.

“You’ve been looking through the Book?” I asked her. Amren nodded slowly. “Is there anything in there about the Cauldron? About it . . . attaching itself to people?”

Amren smirked. “Nesta wants to shake it off, does she? Sadly, no. I have not read anything like that. Not much of anything useful, actually.” Steel edged her words, and I did not dare ask about her other, more personal quest.

I grumbled, “Nesta won’t be happy to hear that.”

“Well, it’s not her only option,” Amren said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“This is no guarantee, of course, but if anyone would know something about severing enchantments, it would be Helion Spell-Cleaver.”

“The High Lord of Day?” I asked, remembering Rhys’s lessons.

“He’s very old,” Amren said. “It doesn’t mean he’s seen anything like this before, but he has one thousand libraries. Surely one of them has something.”

“Old? I thought he only became High Lord after the last one rebelled against Amarantha with Nostrus and the last High Lord of Winter,” I said.

“He did,” Rhysand confirmed, “but just because he’s new to being a High Lord does not mean that he’s new to this world. Not like Tarquin. Helion is . . . eight hundred, I believe? Nine? After a while it’s rude to ask.” His eyes glimmered. “He was responsible for all the scribes, all the libraries, which for the Day Court is most of their towns and cities. So it only made sense that the title passed to him when his predecessor died.”

“So he could know something to help Nesta?”

“Maybe,” Amren said. Her nails clicked against the roof tiles as she placed her hand down at her sides. “Regardless, our priority is getting Mor back. Nesta will have to wait.”

Rhysand glared at her. “I don’t believe that’s your call to make, Amren,” he said, his voice low and full of authority.

She did not balk. “I’m only stating what you already believe, Rhys,” she purred. “You’re among friends, now. No need to play your pretty games.”

Rhys snarled softly, but he did not continue to argue with her. “I need your help reinforcing the shields tomorrow,” he said, his voice bearing the tenor of the High Lord. “As soon as that’s done, we’re all going back to Summer, and from there we’ll figure out how to get Mor back.”

“You bet your ass we will,” Cassian growled. “And if we can turn the Spring Court into rubble while we’re at it . . . all the better.”

Beyond us the seagulls cried out and the bells in the harbor rang. The scent of the sea and of Elain’s flowers filled the air, and I laced my fingers through Rhysand’s as I soaked in this moment of peace.

It might be the last one I had for a very long time.


	23. Chapter 23

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

We were going to eat lunch in the townhome, but I asked Rhys if we could go somewhere in the city, to enjoy it for the brief time we were here. I swear he started glowing he smiled so broadly, and he took my hand in his and drew me into a sweet kiss so lovely I lost all sense of direction for a moment. He pressed a hand to my lower back and we walked down the street into the busier section of town. Neither of us was sure when we would be in Velaris again, so we wanted to experience our city as much as we could while we had the chance.

It didn’t occur to me until we reached the end of the avenue to ask, “Do they all know I’m High Lady?” I asked.

Rhys’s brow furrowed slightly. “No, it’s . . . we haven’t had the chance to formally acknowledge you. They’ll know you’re my mate; there’s certainly no hiding that anymore.” He looked at me carefully. “Do you want them to know?”

I got lost in his violet eyes for a moment before I answered, “I’m not sure I want people bowing to me or anything.” Not right now. Not when I’d be leaving them again so soon.

Cassian snorted. “You certainly have a high opinion of yourself.”

Rhys smirked but took my right hand in his, running his thumb over the dark swirls of my tattoo. “They won’t bow. They’ll treat you like they treat me.”

I sighed in relief. “That’s all I want.”

He was right, too. We went to the restaurant that was always so good about giving Amren the blood she preferred--though Amren refrained from drinking it in front of Elain, who did not yet seem to know about Amren’s diet. I sat across from Elain, beside Rhys, and as we ate I allowed myself to forget the looming horrors, the threat of war. Rhys’s hand rested on my thigh as he sipped his wine, joking with Cassian and Amren.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and saw the establishment’s owner standing behind me. She smiled warmly and said, “I hope I am not out of turn in saying this, Lady Feyre, but I and some of the others here have noticed your vow, and we wanted you to know that after what you did to defend this city, we couldn’t ask for anyone better to be our High Lady.”

My heart swelled at the same time that my cheeks turned red, and I returned her smile and murmured, “Thank you.”

“That’s all we’ll say on the matter,” the owner said, “until it’s all official. But thank you.” She gave me a nod and ordered a round of drinks for us all. I looked down at my plate, a small, wondering smile on my face.

Rhys kissed my temple, breathing in the scent of my hair as he did. “See? I told you,” he said softly, putting slight pressure on my thigh and running his thumb along it.

We finished our round of drinks and then Rhys stood, the rest of us rising after him. “Let’s take a look at these shields, shall we?” he said to Amren and Cassian.

I looped my arm through Elain’s and turned to lead her home. “See you back at the house,” I said.

I was stopped by Rhys’s hands on my elbow. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

I lifted my eyebrow. “Taking my sister home?”

Rhys shook his head and tsked. “We’ll all escort dear Elain home, but then _you’re_ coming with me.” Seeing the puzzled expression my face, he grinned. “You’re the High Lady now, Feyre darling. It’s not all pretty parties and free drinks.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.

We led Elain back up to the house and promised that we’d be back for her the following morning. She smiled and plucked a tulip from her elbow before shutting the door behind her.

“So, where are we going, exactly?” I asked, turning to Rhys.

He looked up toward the mountains beyond the city. “The best place is above the House of Wind.”

Amren cocked her head at Cassian, but Rhys seemed to read her thoughts. Maybe he actually did. “The top of the mountain isn’t warded,” he said. “I’ll get you both to the top.” He glanced at me, mischief on his mouth. “I’ll come back for you,” he purred.

“Promise?” I asked, my lips curling.

Amren made an irritated sound, so Rhys grabbed her hand first and winnowed her to the top of the mountain. “Push her off the edge!” Cassian hollered as if they could hear him.

Cassian barely had time to grin and open his mouth toward me before Rhys appeared and winnowed him away as well. Then, at last, my mate appeared before me, his night-black hair ruffled and his face lit with his classic look of cocky flirtation. He held out his hand and I took it, asking, “Are we winnowing, too?”

Rhys pulled my arm, causing me to stumble into his chest. I didn’t have a chance to right myself before he swept his arm under my legs and his magnificent black wings spread wide behind him, the light of dusk seeping through the membranes, dying them gold and red. “Where would the fun be in that?” he asked, lowering his head to brush his nose along the side of my face. My hands tightened around the back of his neck.

I embraced the whoosh of air as Rhys lifted off the ground, my bronze hair flapping in the wind, strands flying free from my loose braid. With a few great strokes, Rhys was high enough in the air to catch the current and glide, causing the roar of wind in my ears to diminish.

“I still need to teach you how to fly,” he said, glancing down at me.

“I thought you’d never get around to offering,” I teased.

“Our schedules haven’t exactly lined up,” he said, and I laughed. My laugh died away as I felt the bond between us warm, drawing my attention to it. I unhooked one of my hands from behind his neck and caressed his face, and he looked down at me with such unmitigated love that it took my breath away. “Feyre, I adore you,” he breathed.

My voice trembled even as I teased, “I would say I adore you, too, but then your ego would get too big and we’d fall right out of the sky.”

Rhys threw his head back and laughed, and the sound was music in my soul. His arms tightened around me to pull me closer to him, and as he banked into a new air current, he kissed me deeply, his thumb stroking my ribs as the wind whipped through our hair.

We finally touched down on the mountain, which was windy and cold but not unbearable. Rhys led me to an outcropping of rock where Amren and Cassian were waiting, and I gasped at the sight of the city below.

Bathed in the gold and pink light of sunset, the city looked as though it were made of precious jewels, the sea glittering like diamonds in the background. The beauty of it leaked into me--I had never seen the city at this angle, and my fingers practically twitched with the desire to paint.

“I want to paint this,” I whispered, tears of wonder stinging the corners of my eyes. This--this was my _home_. This beautiful, wonderful place . . .

My fist clenched. I would never let it be harmed again.

Rhys brushed his thumb over the back of my fist and I loosened it so that he could lace his fingers in mine. “Amren, Cassian, if you please.”

The two members of our Inner Circle lifted their hands to the sky, and I saw what I had only seen one before--a shield, like a dome over the city, glimmering in red and blue and dozens of other colors. Rhys scanned it with his eyes and I felt his magic reaching out, looking for weak points. He nodded in satisfaction after several minutes of scanning. “It’s in good shape,” he murmured, looking in approval at Cassian. “You and Az did a good job.” The two Illyrian warriors had rebuilt the shield after Hybern had attacked the city weeks ago.

Cassian nodded gruffly.

“It’s stronger since Feyre returned the magic,” Amren said, her voice sounding ancient and unlike the Amren I was used to.

“Can I feel it?” I asked softly.

Rhys nodded and tightened his hold on my hand, using our mental connection to show me how to feel for the limits of the shield, just like I felt for the shields people kept around their minds. This shield was unlike all of those, however. While the mental shield of a person had qualities befitting them, this shield seemed to be made of all and nothing. Adamant, ice, steel, glass, stone, diamond . . . it was all of these things and yet not any of them. I could _feel_ Rhys in it, Amren, Cassian, Mor, Azriel . . . and something more ancient, perhaps traces of all of Rhys’s ancestors, going back to the High Lord who had cleansed the Night Court and dreamed of a place of joy and peace within his lands. The strength and history of it pounded through my blood.

“I want to help,” I said, breathless. “I want to . . . add myself to it.”

“It’s your right,” Rhys said into my ear, stepping behind me and placing his hands on my shoulders. “You are the High Lady. This city is yours to love, cherish, and defend. Every High Lord since Velaris was built has put themselves into this shield, and they still linger here even centuries, millennia, after they have left this earth. I can think of nothing more fitting than to have you join their legacy.”

“How do I do it?” I asked.

“Feel for it,” Rhys instructed, guiding my magic with his in tendrils toward the shield.

I gasped as my magic touched the shield and latched onto me, drawing my magic and some of my strength away from me to entwine me within it, binding me to it for eternity and beyond.

“Let go of the fear,” Rhys murmured, stroking my arms with his hands. “It won’t harm you.”

So I did. I let go of the grip on my magic and let it flow freely into the shield, which drank it in--not just the Night magic, but bits of the other courts as well. It went on for some time, until the shield seemed sated and released its hold on me, on my magic.

I shivered as my magic spooled back into me, gazing with wonder at the new streaks of color that adorned the shield. A gust of wind blew toward us, as though the shield were whispering its thanks.

“That’s done, then,” Amren said, sounding pleased.

Cassian whistled low. “It’s amazing every time I see it.”

“It is,” Rhys agreed. He glanced at his commander. “Let me take you home. The healers won’t be pleased that you’ve been out all day.”

Cassian muttered something about where exactly the healers could shove it, but Rhys ignored him and winnowed him back down to the city. Amren and I were left alone, her ancient silver eyes grazing the shield, which was beginning to fade into invisibility again. “I’m glad we have you, Feyre,” she said simply. “You bring something new to this place. In a world that lasts forever, it’s good to see someone breathe new life into it. Into us.”

My throat was tight. “Thank you, Amren.”

Just then, Rhys appeared, holding his hand out to Amren.

“I think I’ll walk,” she said mildly. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” She quirked her mouth up--the best smile we would get from her--and took off bounding across the rocky mountain top.

Rhys faced me, the setting sun caressing his golden skin, his star-flecked eyes catching the light. His beautiful wings were spread behind him, tendrils of night drifting from his skin. His hands were in his pockets, the picture of casualness, but I could see his chest rising and falling an erratic rhythm, betraying the turmoil beneath his skin.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as the wind snapped a lock of hair across my face.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he breathed. And I realized he was looking at me the way he had on Calanmai, no trace of a mask, no teasing--just pure, unabashed wonder. “I want you to see what I see when I look at you,” he said.

I felt his magic brush against my mental shields, and I lowered them for him, allowing him to fill my mind with his view.

My breath was swept away, but I wasn’t sure if it was my breath or his. All I could see was myself, standing against the backdrop of the pink-smeared sky, the glittering sea beyond me.

And I was glowing.

It came from just beneath my skin, causing glitter to cascade through the air as I moved. My blue-gray eyes were bright, my hair swirled around my head, and . . . I looked happy. So unlike the wraith I had been when I had first come to Velaris.

Rhys released my mind and slipped away, but when I returned to my own eyes, he had moved across the barren rock between us and closed the distance until I had to tilt my head up to look into his burning violet eyes. His hand rose to caress my cheek as though I were made of china--he even trembled. “I just can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured with a trembling voice.

I reached up to brush a featherlight kiss to his lips. “I am yours,” I said, “and you are mine. And this city . . . Velaris is ours.”

My lips parted slightly when I realized he was crying, silent tears slipping down his cheeks. “All those years . . . I never thought I could have this. Never thought I would see Velaris again, let alone share it with such a beautiful, perfect mate.” His hands held my waist, warming my sides.

Heat spread across my cheeks. I wanted to tease, but the words wouldn’t come. I just stepped in and laid my head against his chest. His arms wrapped around me and he pressed his lips to the top of my head. One of his hands twisted my loose hair around it securely.

“I never really believed in the Mother,” I said into his chest, “but when I think about how everything in my life has brought me here, brought us together . . . it’s hard not to think that something good is out there, uniting things even when the rest of the world is trying to break apart.”

“I know what you mean,” Rhys murmured. I closed my eyes as he brought the shadows in around us and winnowed us back home, right into the townhouse--as only we could do. He kissed me between the brows and released me. It was darker down in the city now that the sun had slipped away, but there was still enough pale purple light to see by as I watched him cross the room to the bureau, where he picked up a small box that I knew all too well.

Before I could so much as open my mouth, Rhys was down on his knees before me--those tattooed knees, ever reminding him of what was important in this world. “I want to do this right,” he said hoarsely. “I know you said . . . that you wanted to wait, but--” He opened the box, revealing the beautiful star sapphire within it. “If this war tries to tear us apart . . . I don’t want to face it knowing I never even asked you properly.” He swallowed, his breath ragged, and this was the most vulnerable I’d ever seen him, even including that night I had roused him from his nightmare. “Feyre Archeron, my mate, my salvation, my queen . . . will you also be my wife?”

My heart might have stopped entirely, but my pulse also drummed in my ears as I stared frozen at him, drowning in some overwhelming, radiant emotion that had too many names and none at all. “Yes,” I breathed. I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “Yes, Rhys, yes.” I held out my hand and he slipped the star sapphire on, and my blood began to sing when the silver touched my skin. For a glorious moment, the sapphire glowed bright before dimming to its ordinary magnificence on my finger.

In the next moment, Rhys was pulling me close, kissing me so deep that my back arched and I had to throw my arms around his neck to keep from falling over. We were both crying, kissing away each other’s tears until our faces were damp and our hearts raced to the same rhythm. And I glowed, and he surrounded me with his canvas of night, and we became eternity.


	24. Chapter 24

******CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

We met in the foyer of the townhouse the next morning. Overnight, Cassian had alerted one of his legions to prepare to fly south. It would take them longer to get there, since they would use a combination of winnowing and flying to travel across Prythian, but Cassian would still travel with us so that he would have the chance to survey the territory and evaluate the conditions.

Amren had the Book of Breathings in a bag slung over her shoulder, and though the bag was enchanted I could still hear the joy and madness of the Book humming to me beneath my skin. Amren noticed my discomfort and caught my eye with a sympathetic glance.

We all walked into the street together, and Elain and I sat on a bench beside each other. It would take some time for Rhys to get us all to Summer, since I couldn’t winnow far enough on my own yet. Rhys was confident that I would be able to do it someday. I was happy enough that I could do it at all. Still, the task of getting us all to Summer fell to Rhys. He started with Amren, and the moment they vanished I felt the tension in my body ease. The Book . . . I could not explain exactly why it affected me so deeply. I knew it was because I was Made, but it didn’t seem to affect Elain or Amren the same way. Was it connected to me, the way Nesta was connected to the Cauldron? I made a note to myself to ask Amren about it later.

When Rhys was gone, Cassian cleared his throat and turned to me. “Listen, Feyre . . . I didn’t want to ask yesterday. Not in front of Rhys. And honestly I was too happy to see you for it to come to mind. But I know that you have some of the Dawn Court’s magic . . .”

My eyes widened and my breath caught in my chest. “Cauldron boil me, Cassian . . . I completely forgot. I’m so sorry!”

Cassian grimaced. “Don’t be. You’ve have a lot you’re dealing with. And it feels wrong for me to even ask, considering you’re my High Lady, but . . .”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Of course I’ll . . .” I trailed off, uncertainty halting my words. What would be the consequences of giving Cassian my blood? Rhys, I thought, was one thing, given that we were mates. And I had been so frantic--and pissed off--at the time that I hadn’t stopped to think how or why my blood had cured Rhys. Was it only effective on bloodbane? I grimaced. “If it works, I’ll find a way to help you, Cassian. I . . . I haven’t exactly figured that part of my power out yet.”

“What do you mean?” Elain asked.

“My blood has healing properties,” I explained. “I’ve only used it once, when Rhys was poisoned. Cassian wants to know if I could heal his wings.”

“So the Dawn Court heals?” Elain asked. I nodded. “Weren’t you talking about going there, to speak to its High Lord about helping Nesta? Maybe . . . maybe he could help Cassian too, if you can’t.”

I took her hand and held it in my lap, the ever-twisting vines around her fingers tickling my palm. “Well, we were speaking of Day Court. They’re different,” I said gently. Elain wasn’t quite as clear on all the boundaries within Prythian yet. “But perhaps, if my blood doesn’t work, the High Lord of Dawn will be able to help.” I looked up at Cassian. “I’ll talk to Rhys about it. He’ll probably know more about it than I do.”

Cassian grimaced. “Just don’t tell him it was my idea. He’ll murder me.”

My mind flashed with images from the day after Rhys and I had mated and Cassian had antagonized Rhys to help him get the edge off. It had been brutal. I could only imagine what Rhys’s reaction would be if he knew that Cassian had asked to drink my blood. Not pretty, that’s for sure. Cassian would survive, but he would be in worse shape than he was now.

As though summoned, Rhys reappeared then. He seemed to sense the awkwardness and looked between Cassian and me, eyebrows raised, but decided not to ask before he winnowed Cassian away.

I hadn’t realized I was staring at the place where he’d appeared and disappeared until Elain giggled. “It’s really sweet to see you in love, Feyre.”

I blushed and glanced down at my lap, seeing the star sapphire on my finger glinting in the early sun.

“You deserve it,” she insisted.

I bit my lip and took a breath. “You do, too, Elain. No matter what Nesta says.”

Elain’s pretty mouth formed an ‘o.’ “What do you mean?”

“Nesta is brilliant, and brave, and a force of nature,” I said carefully, “but she doesn’t always know best.”

A smile flitted across Elain’s face. “I know,” she admitted. “It’s just, when we were . . . mortal, it was always so much easier to let her or you take the lead.”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious. There was a twinge of bitterness still in my heart, but after all Elain had been through, I didn’t have it in me to continue being angry at her anymore.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, since Nesta’s been gone,” Elain said. “I think that I never felt like I had a real grip on the world--as though I were always being pulled along by some sort of current without any real control over any of it.”

“It never seemed that way,” I said. Elain had always seemed to have the easiest time navigating the social requirements of the mortal world. She had made it all look so simple, and I remembered envying her for it.

“I could keep my head above the water,” Elain clarified. “Sometimes I could even make it look like I was swimming. But there was always some kind of piece missing, like I wasn’t entirely at home anywhere.” Her words started to sink in and I looked at her, about to say something, but she continued, “Since being here--being Made--I don’t feel that way anymore.”

I held her hand in mine and took a breath. “I know what you mean,” I said. I let out a small laugh. “I’ll admit it took me a lot longer to reach that conclusion, though.”

“Well, you were tortured for three months before you were Made,” Elain said, and my face snapped up to look at her. “You _died_.” She saw my look. “Mor told me. I’m not saying my experience was exactly pleasant, but according to Mor, you weren’t quite _you_ after you’d been Made, and that wasn’t your fault. So it makes sense that it took longer.”

“Rhys helped me,” I breathed. “Rhys is the reason I ever got there at all.”

“I can tell,” Elain said seriously. “You two are right together.” Her expression became distant, and she murmured, “Is that what Lucien is supposed to be to me?”

I hesitated. “I only know how it worked for me,” I said carefully. “I know it’s good--the best thing I’ve ever had. But you can choose if you want it. No one is going to force you into it--not even Lucien.”

Elain nodded but said nothing as Rhys finally appeared before us again, looking a little tired but none the worse for wear. He held out an arm to each of us. “Ladies,” he purred.

I took his arm and kissed his cheek before allowing him to winnow us away to the Summer Court.

-

I missed the scent of the sea as soon as it had faded from my nose to be replaced with sweet grasses and warmth. The air was heavier here, not as crisp and clean as Velaris. It wasn’t bad . . . it just wasn’t mine.

But I saw Elain’s eyes widen with wonder at Tarquin’s manor, its noble pillars and ancient glory. The vines around her fingers twisted faster and a day lily bloomed from her shoulder. I plucked it off and handed it to her. She blushed and accepted it.

“I take it Cassian is already aggravating Varian?” I asked as we walked with Rhys across the grass onto the stone patio.

“You know him. He wastes no time,” Rhys said, amusement twisting his mouth. I looped my arm through his and offered Tarquin a smile when we came out of the house and approached us.

“Lord Rhysand. Lady Feyre,” he said with a nod. “Thank you for your promptness. It goes a long way in establishing good faith between us.”

“Amren has shown you the Book, then?” I asked.

Tarquin nodded. “It’s . . . different from how I remember it,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s been united with its other half,” I said, though I wasn’t keen on explaining how that had happened.

“Is this your sister?” Tarquin asked, offering Elain a handsome smile.

“Yes. Elain, Lord Tarquin of the Summer Court.”

Tarquin took Elain’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “It is a pleasure. Immortality suits you,” he said, noticing her vines and blooms.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Elain!” Nesta cried, dashing across the patio to crush Elain into her arms. Elain squeaked in surprise but returned out sister’s embrace.

“I’m all right, Nesta,” she said, and I thought I heard a trace of irritation in her voice.

“I know,” Nesta said almost breathlessly, “but I missed you.”

“I hear you’ve had quite the adventure,” Elain said.

Nesta’s lips pressed together. “Yes. But it will be all right. We’ll fix it. Just like we’ll fix . . . this.” She plucked a lilac from behind Elain’s ear.

“Fix?” Elain asked with a frown. “What is there to fix? I . . . I know it might be a little bit much, but it’s not hurting me.”

Nesta was silent for a long a moment and Rhys seemed to understand. “Nesta . . . you do understand that there is no undoing this? You . . . you won’t be mortal again.” He said it so gently it almost made my heartbreak, but Nesta whirled on him.

“You haven’t even considered it,” she spat. “If we can be made immortal, we can be made mortal again. We can go home. Go back. Elain can go back to . . . “

“Go back to what?” Elain asked, her voice rising, vines twisting faster around her fingers. “To a man who would murder my sister if he saw her? Would murder me, if he saw me now?”

Nesta blinked, but she said nothing. I felt Rhys brush a hand over my back before nodding to Tarquin and heading into the house.

“We’re on the other side now, Nesta. We can’t go back. There’s nothing there for me, nothing that I want. And I think if you really thought about it you would see that there’s nothing waiting for you there, either.”

Nesta’s nostrils flared and she turned her furious eyes on me, as though I had told Elain to say those things. Then she whirled and stormed off into the trees.

“Nesta!” Elain cried, reaching out for her.

I placed a hand gently on her arm. “Let her be,” I said. “She’s . . . been having a difficult time.” My eldest sister was a storm bound within skin, and if she did not get a chance to rage, she would take others out with her.

“I wish I could help her,” Elain murmured.

“So do I,” I said.

Just then, we heard voices approaching from the lawn, and I looked to see Cresseida approaching, Lucien at her side. Lucien was smiling, laughing, but when his easy stride hit the patio he looked up and froze, the smile slipping from his face as he laid eyes on my sister.

Cresseida looked between them and then at me, the question written on her face. I nodded once, and she pressed her lips in an amused smile before slipping away into the house.

I cleared my throat. “Elain, Lucien, Emissary of the Spring Court. Lucien, Elain . . . my sister.”

Lucien swallowed and approached us slowly, terror and wonder in equal measure on his face. When he was a few paces away from us, he bowed at the waist. “It is a pleasure to meet you . . . under more pleasant circumstances,” he said, his voice tight. I thought I even saw a bead of sweat on his brow.

“Likewise,” Elain said breathlessly. But then, the quintessential lady, she extended her hand to him. His good eye flashed and he took her hand in his, lifting it to press his lips to the soft skin there. Elain gasped just slightly. Lucien’s fingers lingered a moment before he released her hand and straightened.

“Would you two like a moment?” I asked, glancing between them.

To my surprise, both of them shook their head. “No,” Elain said, though she gave a nervous smile. “But perhaps another time.”

“I agree,” Lucien said. “I . . . I would like that.” I could see the wonder pass over his face as he was experiencing that promised bond between them, one not yet secured but that offered a path in life for them to walk together, if they both pleased. I looked at Elain and saw that she was feeling the same thing. Lucien smiled at her--not his fox’s smile, nor his devilish smile that had driven crazy when I’d first met him--but a genuine, sweet smile that warmed my heart. “I heard from Feyre that you enjoy gardening. There’s a small garden on this estate that Tarquin keeps maintained. Perhaps I could show it to you tomorrow, if--if you’d like. If it’s all right with your sister.”

I held up my hand, trying to suppress the giddy grin on my face. “You’ll have no objections from me.”

Lucien finally tore his eyes away from Elain to look at me. “No offense, Feyre, but I actually wasn’t talking about you.”

Oh. Nesta.

“Ah,” I said. “Did she give you the third degree like she promised?” I asked.

Elain growled in the back of her throat, and it was the most Fae noise I’d heard her make yet. “Nesta doesn’t make my decisions for me,” she said in a low voice. “I love her, but . . .” She met Lucien’s eyes. “I would love to see the garden with you tomorrow.”

The look on Lucien’s face was nothing less than profound relief. He bowed again at the waist, his long red hair fluttering in the summer breeze. Then he took his leave, looking like he was floating as he walked away.

Elain glanced at me, brown eyes bright. “He’s . . . not what I expected.”

“He was on his best behavior just now,” I said, my eyes still fixed on his back.

“What happened to his face?” she whispered.

My shoulders tensed and I shook my head. “That is for him to tell you.”

“Is that what it felt like when you met Rhys for the first time? Like you didn’t want him to walk away?” she asked, staring after Lucien.

I smiled, remembering Calanmai of the year before. “Yes,” I replied. “It felt exactly like that.”

“Maybe it’s worth a chance,” Elain mused. “Maybe all of this is. I don’t want to go back to how it was. So maybe I just need to be brave and try.”

I took her hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

We were given the day to recuperate from the extensive travel. Rhys was powerful, but winnowing across Prythian round-trip three times in a day took some energy out of him, and so he lounged in the room we shared, spread out on the bed while I sat cross-legged in front of him, playing with bits of my magic that I hadn’t used in a while. Now that we were in Summer Court, the water magic came the easiest, and we were soon surrounded with little animals made of water--butterflies, birds, dogs, rabbits. Whatever I could think of. Rhys’s fingers twisted lazily in my hair and sometimes stroked up and down my back. **  
**

“I’d love to see you try a lion one day,” he remarked.

“Piss me off enough and I just might,” I said with a smirk. I watched a water butterfly flit past my nose. “Tarquin still doesn’t know I can do this, does he?” I asked, thinking of all our interactions thus far. He knew I had been able to steal the Book, but I didn’t think he knew how I’d done it.

“No,” Rhys said, his fingers tugging slightly at my hair. “And I suggest it stays that way. Having this variety of skill is your greatest asset--even better if you can keep it a surprise.”

“Those were my thoughts,” I said. “I think the shapeshifting is pretty clear at this point, unless everyone attributed the wings to Night Court magic.” Everyone had seen my wings in the chaos at the border--perhaps even the fire too, though that had been so entwined with my darkness that there was a chance it had gone unnoticed.

“I’m not sure what they think,” Rhys admitted. I felt him shift to sit upright behind me, and he set his chin on my shoulder. “But that’s the fun of the masks we wear so well. Half the job is done for us when we allow people to come to their own conclusions . . . and never give a straight answer.”

“Hmm, I know someone who’s _especially_ good at that last part,” I said, turning my head to kiss his temple.

“I keep things interesting. That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?”

“If that helps you sleep at night,” I teased mercilessly.

Rhys laughed and shifted again so that he was sitting across from me, and he casually took my hands in his and cradled them between us.

“So what now?” I asked.

Rhys let out a huff of air, causing a lock of his black hair to flutter over his forehead. “More politics, I suspect. Cassian’s men will be arriving in the next few days, and once we have them, we can mount an attack on Spring Court and try to retrieve Mor.”

“Right. I’m clear on that part,” I said. “But what about the Cauldron? Hybern’s bigger plan? Will he still be able to tear down the Wall without it? What about the Book?”

Rhys chewed on his lip thoughtfully, and the sight stirred up my desire. I stamped it back down, willing myself to focus. “I think Hybern might try to take down the Wall, even without the Cauldron or Spring Court’s magic. He’s been planning this for a century--I’m sure he has a backup plan.”

“Perhaps the queens? We never found out what happened to them,” I said.

Rhys nodded. “Possibly.”

“Do you think he’ll try to come for Nesta?” I asked, my voice getting smaller.

Rhys grimaced. “If he finds out, he might. He put a lot of work into getting it, and he’ll want it back, Wall or no.” His violet eyes softened at the look on my face and he lifted one hand to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “We won’t let them take her,” he promised. Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Now that Cassian’s here, they’d have to go through him.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Ah, yes. They’re . . . involved, aren’t they?” It had been too easy to read Cassian’s reactions whenever he had come back from Nesta’s home in the mortal world, and I had seen his attempts to save her in Hybern despite his injuries. I did not have a name for what they were to each other--if they would even admit to anything. Still, it did reassure me that Cassian had his eyes on my eldest sister, especially with this new complication. “That reminds me of a few things,” I said.

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Yes, darling?”

“The way I see it, the _best_ way to protect Nesta would be to separate her from the Cauldron. Amren suggested that Lord Helion would be able to do it. What’s the likelihood of paying him a visit once we get Mor back?”

Rhys shrugged. “Fairly likely, as the Day Court allied with Winter and Summer not long ago to rebel against Amarantha. With Tarquin’s endorsement, it should be easy to make a trip.”

“And what about Dawn?”

“Why Dawn?”

I took a breath. “I want Cassian to see their healers. Sooner rather than later. I thought . . . I thought I might try my blood, first, but if it doesn’t work . . .” My shoulders tensed as I waited for Rhys’s reaction.

He was still and thoughtful, betraying no feeling one way or another. “It’s your body, Feyre,” he said. “If you want to offer Cassian your blood . . . that is your choice.” I sagged in visible relief, and he cocked his head, confused. “What did you think I was going to say?” he asked.

I shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know. With the mate bond still being so fresh, and the magic involved . . . I thought you might not like it.”

Rhys snorted and shook his head before pressing a kiss to my brow. “That has worn off, darling. And even if it hadn’t . . . again, it’s your choice. As for the magic, I took quite the sample and didn’t walk away with the ability to conjure water wolves, so I don’t think that’s a concern.” He grinned. “I think your biggest challenge would be getting him to accept the offer.”

I smirked. “He asked me,” I said.

Rhys’s eyes widened. “He didn’t,” he said, sounding stunned more than angry. He chuckled. “Feyre, do you have any idea how much it took for him to ask that? The only thing bigger than an Illyrian’s pride is the love of his wings.”

A wicked grin flashed across my face. “The _only_ thing?” I said, leaning toward my mate.

My grin was matched by Rhys’s feline smile. “That wicked mouth of yours,” he murmured, leaning closer to me, too. He paused so that his lips hovered right over mine, his breath warming my face. My lips tingled in response, and I leaned forward to snatch the kiss from him. He laughed in his throat even as he kissed me back and his arms wrapped around my back to draw me closer. Excitement rippled in my blood, and I threw my weight into him until he fell back onto the bed, and then we got tangled with each other in the sheets until it was time for dinner.

-

As Rhys had anticipated, the following morning was a series of political meetings, negotiating the exact terms of our alliance with the Summer Court in writing. I hadn’t realized just how much went into that sort of thing, but I supposed it was helpful to have it all in a binding document so that any deceit would be clear and obvious.

What surprised me most about the proceedings was the ferocity of Cresseida, who was always pushing for more, always trying to make sure that she was on the better end of everything, even marginally. She seemed to have mistaken her luck with Rhysand the other day for an indicator that she was smarter than him, but this time he was ready for her and was able to negotiate his way out of most of her traps.

Most of her concerns didn’t interest me much--they had to do with trade and other economic elements of the partnership. But when the topic moved to both the Book of Breathings and the Spring Court, I honed in on every word.

“Do you plan to just keep Amren hostage here until she can return the Book to you?” I asked Cresseida baldly. “I understand asking her to come as a sign of goodwill, but she is our Second in Command. She cannot stay here indefinitely.”

“Oh, she can leave any time she’d like,” Cresseida said smoothly with a wave of her hand. “The Book, however, remains with the Summer Court.”

“And if we need the Book elsewhere to stop Hybern?” I asked.

“A Summer Court representative shall be present--ideally either Varian or myself,” Cresseida sniffed.

“That’s absurd,” Lucien said. “Cresseida, I understand your concerns perfectly, but that is quite the ask.”

“Who are you even bargaining for, Lucien?” Cresseida asked, fixing her deep brown eyes on him. Her coarse silver hair, bound in neat twists and capped in gold, hung over her shoulders, and the adornments clinked on the wood table when she leaned forward. “Are you here for the Night Court? Or Spring? Or are you back to Autumn? I’ve lost track.”

Lucien snarled. “As of right now, I am here for Prythian.” I hid my frown by sipping some water. He knew my feelings on the matter--that I considered him part of my court. Why, then, did he not act like it?

“How noble,” Cresseida sneered. “I suppose that makes you neutral? Superior?”

“Enough, Cresseida,” Tarquin said, his voice weary. “His High Lord has recently been . . . well, relocated. I think it’s understandable if, in the past week, Lucien has not immediately thrown his allegiance with another court.” I thought for sure I saw Tarquin’s eyes glance over at Rhysand and me, but we ignored it.

“Frankly, I’m a bit surprised that Lord Tamlin is not present,” Cresseida said. “This involves his court as much as the rest of ours.”

My lips pulled back from my teeth. “Lord Tamlin committed treason against Prythian by aligning with Hybern.”

“But he is still High Lord, is he not? The power has not left him. Varian has told me that you’re all planning to storm his manor as soon as the Illyrians arrive? What must he think of that?”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” I said tightly. “He failed to protect his land. What happens to it now is a direct consequence of his decisions.”

Cresseida clicked her tongue. “Dangerous words, Lady Feyre.”

A growl began to rip from my throat when Lucien coughed and stood up. “If I may be so bold, I suggest we adjourn for the day. We’ve all been cooped up for hours, and I, for one, have an appointment.” He glanced at me, but I did him the courtesy of not betraying my knowledge of it.

“I second that,” Tarquin said, rolling his shoulders as he stood. “Shall we reconvene after dinner?”

There was a murmur of agreement and we all stood.

“I need to go speak with Azriel to see if he’s learned anything new,” Rhys said to me. “You’re welcome to come, but I’ll tell you everything later if you’d rather not.”

“I think I’ll take a walk,” I said. “I haven’t spoken with Nesta since yesterday. I want to see if she’s all right.”

Rhys nodded and kissed my head once before we parted ways. I meandered out onto the patio, keeping an eye out for my sister. She had taken to going on long walks in the woods just at the edge of the estate, according to Azriel, and she was likely there now. It made me nervous when I remembered the hordes of nasty things that had been in Spring Court woods--and even Night Court woods, after dark. I strolled in the direction of the trees, hoping to catch my sister’s scent on the wind.

I walked alone for some time, lost in thought, halfheartedly trying to find my sister and realizing the further I walked that I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to her. I could tell she was having a lot of difficulty with this change, and I wanted to help--I’d been through it myself, after all. But I also didn’t feel like having all my advice and sentiments thrown right back in my face. I just wasn’t sure I was the person Nesta needed right now.

The only trouble was that I wasn’t quite sure who she did need.

I was enjoying the smooth silence of the edge of the woods as I curved to go back toward the garden--perhaps to spy on Lucien and Elain, though they’d never know--when another scent wafted toward my nose and I whirled around.

There, standing ten yards away, was a beast.

Golden, the size of a horse, with antlers and wolfish yet lionlike features . . .

Tamlin.

“Who let you out of your cage?” I asked venomously, shifting my body just slightly but not letting him see how I was preparing to fight him if necessary. I followed Rhys’s example--don’t let them see how powerful you are. Let them underestimate you.

There was a tug on my bond with Rhys as he sensed my alarm. _Feyre, are you all right?_

 _For now_ , I replied.

_Do you need me?_

_I don’t think so. But listen, if you want._

_I’ll be there the second you call._

A snarl ripped from Tamlin’s jaws, and in a flash of light he was himself again, standing broad and strong with the copse of trees in the background. “Cresseida though I might enjoy some fresh air,” he said.

I blinked once and stored away the information for later. “I’m sure she did.” I looked him up and down. “If you try to take me anywhere, I’ll gut you, leave you to bleed out, and then come right back.”

Tamlin, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “I know. Which is why I’m not taking you anywhere.” He laughed humorlessly. “That, and the magical binds that Tarquin has laid on me. Invisible, but effective . . . at least for now.”

“So why come up behind me and attempt to intimidate me?” I could remember another time he’d done that, and I’d thought it romantic . . . laid a trap for him and flirted with him . . .

That had been a different Feyre.

“I want to know what happened,” he said. “I’ve been trying, Feyre, but I don’t understand. I did _everything_ for you, and yet you leave me? For him?”

I kept my face cool even as the anger lit the embers beneath my skin. “You did everything for me,” I repeated dully. “Did you fight for me Under the Mountain, Tamlin? Did you die for me? Would you have? Did you care when I was wasting away in your manor, drowning in my guilt and shame, while you pretended that everything was going to be all right? Did you do _anything_ for me that didn’t directly benefit you?”

Tamlin didn’t say anything--though I saw the claws poking out from beneath his skin. “You’ve made all that clear before,” he said, though I knew he didn’t understand. “But why _him_?”

“Because he’s my mate,” I said simply.

Tamlin growled. “You could have said no.”

I scoffed. “I know you want to think he stole me, Tamlin--that he seduced me, made me choose him. But none of that happened. I fell out of love with you when you locked me in that house-- _locked me up_ , Tamlin, after I had spent three months in a dungeon for you.”

Tamlin’s eyes widened at that, and I think finally that part of things clicked into place. He truly had not seen how that would affect me--he’d just acted selfishly, as he always had.

“He didn’t trick me into loving him, into mating with him,” I continued. “I don’t even compare him to you, because there is no comparison. He gives me freedom, choices, and power of my own. You just wanted to dress me up to look pretty next to you.”

“Feyre, I didn’t mean--”

“But you _did_ ,” I pressed. I sighed. “Tamlin, I changed Under the Mountain. I thought you knew that. I changed long before Rhys called in on our bargain. I didn’t need to be protected or coddled anymore, but that’s all you knew to give me. You didn’t want to see that I’d changed. You loved just one part of me. I don’t think you could love all of me even if you tried.” Hell, _I_ had trouble loving all of me most days.

“I _never_ stopped loving you,” Tamlin hissed, fists clenching.

“I know you think that,” I said. “You might still love the old me. The human Feyre, the one who needed protection. But you can’t love the Feyre I am now.” To prove my point, I unveiled my wings, drew out my talons on my hands and feet, and released the hold on my swirling shadows.

Tamlin flinched.

I reeled in my glamour. “That’s what I thought.”

“I did it all for you,” he said through clenched teeth. “I gave up the entire Spring Court for _you_!”

“Don’t lay that at my feet,” I snapped. “You gave up the Spring Court decades ago. It’s only because Andras wanted to fight for your court that I was even brought to you at all--if it had been up to you, you would have handed it right over to Amarantha without a fight. Just like you did with Hybern.”

“Feyre, do you have _any idea_ how powerful Hybern--”

“Do _not_ condescend to me!” I cried, raising my voice in anger as my fingertips burned. “I know _exactly_ how powerful he is. I know exactly how powerful Amarantha was, too, which is why I am going to move mountains to ensure that Prythian doesn’t fall under his control again. It’s thanks to you that we’re in this mess in the first place. So unless you want to come up with ideas about how to undo the chaos you’ve caused, please don’t approach me again. I have made my decision, and it does not involve you. The sooner you move on and stop acting so damn entitled, the better off all of us will be.”

He opened his mouth to continue arguing, but I could not stay to hear another word. So I winnowed away from him, closer to the gardens, pausing to sit on a stone bench and take a few deep breaths.

There was a whisper of shadows and Rhys was standing behind me in the next moment, his hands holding my shoulders, stroking them with his thumbs while he let me sort through everything that had just happened. “I don’t think he’ll ever understand,” I murmured at last.

“Thankfully you don’t need him to,” Rhys said. His hands slid closer to my neck and this thumb brushed the skin there. “As a High Lady, the understanding of others will be the first thing you learn to stop expecting.”

I chuckled darkly. “I suppose that’s a good point.”

“You’ve done right by him, you know,” Rhys said. “You’ve explained it to him multiple times--more than I would have done. How he handles it is not your responsibility.”

“I know,” I breathed. “I just can’t wait until I don’t have to be anywhere near him anymore.”

“That day will come soon,” Rhys promised.

I tilted my head back to look at his eyes and smiled, and he returned it. When I looked upright again, I saw a flash of ginger, and my smile widened when I saw it was Lucien offering my sister a bouquet of flowers.

Peonies.


	26. Chapter 26

**  
** **CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX** **  
**

Rhys and I received a message from Hybern that night.

One moment we were curled up beside each other sound asleep, his fingers on my bare waist and my head tucked against his shoulder, and the next we both jolted awake, stricken by the force of the invasion into our minds.

I frantically tried to throw up my mental shields, wondering how I had let them fall in my sleep--and then realized I hadn’t. Hybern had just slipped past them . . . and it seemed he had done the same to Rhys.

Our room in Tarquin’s manor was snatched away to be replaced with a room I knew all too well--the reception room in Tamlin’s manor where the Tithe had taken place. The black and white tile floor stretched out before us, leading up to the throne that had been Tamlin’s, upon which the king of Hybern now sat. And beside him, in the smaller throne where I had once sat . . .

My heart stopped.

Mor.

Only she didn’t look like herself. All her features were the same--the beautiful blonde hair, smooth pale skin--but her eyes were blank, her mouth devoid of that laugh that was always a stray word away. She didn’t see us, didn’t look at us, only stared straight ahead. Upon her head was a diadem of obsidian, coarsely-carved and brutal, and around her throat was a an amulet made of a stone that I recognized--the same stone that fashioned the chains that had nullified Rhysand’s power when they had caught him.

It wasn’t until I looked the the king himself, lounging on the stolen throne, that the whole image struck me.

He had made Mor his queen. Or an effigy of one, at least. But she was alive. A wave of crippling relief washed through me.

I tried to navigate the scene, tried to move, speak, do anything, but I was frozen. Hybern controlled this--I hadn’t known he had the power to do so. I did manage to glance at Rhys, whose face was drawn with fury as he gripped my hand, and I could see it in his eyes that he was battling against the control Hybern had over us, and it was taking most of his focus.

“At last, the High Lord of Night,” Hybern said, his cruel mouth twisting up. His black eyes fell on me. “And the High Lady of Night, so I understand. It has been quite the effort to slip past the wards of the High Lord of Summer. For a young thing he has his talents.” Hybern sneered.

I continued taking stock of the room, but the only other people there were Jurian and the four formerly-mortal queens. The queens were as motionless and expressionless as Mor. I could not tell how the king was controlling them, but they made no move and said no word. Jurian was lingering to the side of the dais, his mad eyes flicking back and forth between Mor and us.

“I am quite put out that you got away with the Cauldron,” Hybern said, “but I ought to assure you that it in no way alters my plans. That Wall is still coming down, and I will regain what was taken from me.”

Feyre. Rhys’s hand tightened on mine as he spoke to me through the bond between us that Hybern couldn’t touch or sense. _Distract him. I’m working on his shields, but . . . they’re significant._

I strummed the bond to indicate I understood. “The mortal realm is not yours to take,” I said to the king, surprised that I could speak at all.

“ _You are not here to challenge me_ ,” the king boomed, and I felt his grip on my mind tighten threateningly, as though there was a clamp around my mind prepared to squash me at any moment. I closed my mouth. “You are here to listen to my demands and obey them.”

I held my breath. Perhaps we would learn something . . . something useful. The past week had felt like grappling in the dark, but maybe . . . maybe he would reveal something now without intending it.

The king allowed a dramatic pause to fill the room before continuing, “We both have things the other wants. You have the Book and the Cauldron. I have your Third in Command. I propose a trade.”

I glanced at Mor, wondering if she could hear any of this or if she was just a conjuration--perhaps the king was only showing us what he wanted us to see.

This was too easy, and the king should know that we wouldn’t fall for it. We wanted Mor back, but even she would know that we wouldn’t hand over the Book and Cauldron to do it.

“It would do you no good,” I protested. “You can’t use the Book without me, and we don’t even have total control of the Cauldron. We can’t just hand it to you.”

“I know it is bound to the hellcat sister,” Hybern said impatiently. “And you seem to be misunderstanding me. I want the Book, and the Cauldron, and the tools I need to utilize them.”

My blood turned to ice. “You think I would just turn over myself and my sister?”

“Yes,” Hybern said simply. “Morrigan has proved her usefulness. I can kill her if you don’t do what I ask.”

Panic began to flood my throat. I looked at Rhysand, but his focus was straight ahead as he kept picking away at Hybern’s shields.

Jurian finally spoke. “You need the third to get there.”

I sucked in a breath but did not let him know that I had snatched this information to use later.

Hybern looked irritated. “This is my proposal. The three Archeron sisters, the Book, and the Cauldron. And you get your Third back.”

I scoffed. “That is an unfair exchange and you know it.”

“How quaint. You think I care about fairness.” Hybern’s smile was serpentine. “Here’s another incentive. I may not have taken down the whole Wall--yet--but it is well-known that there are holes all over it. I’ve been sliding my army through slowly all week, and the army of the Autumn Court is prepared to march the moment I order--with Dawn Court not far behind. I also have the mortal queens. I can kill them all the moment I please and begin wreaking quite a delicious amount of havoc on the human realm until you decide to give me what I want. So the choice is yours. Turn yourselves over, or I’ll begin destroying everything you’ve been trying so hard to protect.”

 _Ask for time_ , Rhys urged me. _We can work something out if we get time. Make an excuse--something about the Cauldron_. His voice was strained from the effort of his magic and trying to communicate with me at the same time.

“We need time,” I said, managing to make my voice sound even. The king raised his eyebrows. “The Cauldron is useless bound to my sister--useless to her, to us, to you. Unless we free it from her, it cannot be used for any of your purposes. So we need time to find a way to release it from her. When we do, we’ll deliver ourselves to you.”

Hybern’s large fingers drummed the arm of the throne, and I swear I sensed something like nervousness coming from him. “How much time?”

“Summer Solstice,” I blurted, alarmed at my own boldness. Summer Solstice was still six weeks away. Surely he would not be so generous.

Hybern glanced at Jurian, then dragged his fathomless eyes back to Rhys and me. “If you do not turn in all three Archeron sisters and the artifacts in your possession by sunset on the Summer Solstice, I will slaughter Morrigan, the mortal queens, and unleash my armies on the mortal realm. Do we have a deal?”

“Morrigan goes unharmed in the interim,” I insisted. “No torture, no interrogations . . . she must be in one piece when the exchange is made.”

Hybern practically rolled his eyes, but he said, “Very well.”

“Then we have a deal.”

Just then, a searing pain erupted on my chest, and I doubled over in agony, my screams tearing through the mental scene. Rhys immediately stopped his efforts with Hybern and lunged down to support me, wrapping his powerful arms around me. When the burning had stopped, I looked at Hybern through pain-muddied eyes to see him grinning at me.

“See you in six weeks,” he purred, and he melted away into nothing.

-

I jolted into an upright position in bed, still screaming.

“Feyre!” Rhys barked, gripping me tightly. “What did he do to you? Let me see!” He grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me back so he could see my chest. He cursed violently when he saw my inflamed skin--and the new, swirling black ink emblazoned between my collarbones.

Tears streamed down my face and I whimpered as he pressed his cool, strong fingers to the mark. “Bastard,” Rhys spat before gathering me into his arms.

“What have I done?” I wailed into his shoulder. “Rhys, I am so stupid!”

“No, Feyre. No, you’re not,” Rhys insisted through gritted teeth. “You are a miracle.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “I just offered myself and my sisters to Hybern on a silver platter!” I shook so badly it was hard to breathe, and the abject horror from the bargain I had just made gripped my bones so hard I felt like they would splinter.

“Feyre, you just got us _time_ ,” Rhys said, stroking my hair. “Time we did not have before. We have six weeks to save you and your sisters. We’ll figure something out.”

“But what if we don’t?” I moaned. “What if I’ve just doomed us all?”

“Shh,” Rhys said, giving up on words and focusing on calming me with his stroking hands, his light kisses into my hair. “It’s all right, love, you’re all right.”

Just then, the door to our room burst open, and I jerked up to see Cassian and Azriel standing in the doorway, preparing to defend us from an unseen threat.

“What happened?” Azriel asked, his wings slightly flared. His eyes flicked from Rhys to me, and then they fell on the new mark on my chest. They widened in alarm. “That’s not . . . that’s not a Night Court marking,” he said.

“No,” Rhys said tightly. “Meet us downstairs in five minutes and wake the others--Tarquin, Cresseida, Varian . . . Feyre’s sisters. We have new information.”

“No need to wake them,” Cassian grunted. “You weren’t the only one screaming. They’re all heading downstairs already.”

“Tell them we’ll be there soon,” Rhys ordered. Cassian and Azriel nodded once and departed.

I stared after them, my eyes wide. “How will I tell them?” I whispered hoarsely. I still shook--still cried.

Rhys looked me up and down, his expression a striking blend of wrath and love. “I’ll do it,” he murmured. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, then the tears on my cheeks. “Come on,” he said, placing a firm, guiding hand on my elbow to help me slide off the bed.

In the next five minutes, I managed to dress and clean my face enough to make it look like I had some semblance of calm. Rhys wrapped his arm around my waist and we walked down to the meeting room together. Tarquin, Cresseida, and Varian were waiting there, looking sleep-fogged and thoroughly disgruntled. Cassian and Azriel lurked on either side of the door. Nesta stood staring out the window and Elain was slumped in a chair near the fire, holding her chest, Lucien hovering just behind her, watching carefully.

“What just happened?” Tarquin demanded the moment Rhys and I entered.

“Hybern got through your wards,” Rhys said in a clipped tone. “So he launched an attack on me and my mate.”

Varian swore under his breath. “What kind of attack?” he demanded.

“One that we are particularly attuned to.” Rhys tapped his temple. “He had a message for us, but the effort to get through both your wards and our own shields left him susceptible to my own investigation.”

“And what did you learn?” Tarquin asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Many things,” Rhys said. “Most important: Mor is alive.”

“Alive?” Azriel rasped, and my eyes flicked to him to see the shadows around his face lighten for the first time since Calanmai.

Rhys nodded. “She seems relatively unharmed and will remain so. In worse news, he has the mortal queens under his thrall. Dawn and Autumn are allied with him, and he has been slipping his forces through the holes in the Wall all week.”

Elain let out a small gasp, her eyes wide. The vines around her fingers were twirling slowly now, as though they too were half-asleep. Lucien laid a hand on her shoulder, and she did not shake him off.

“Anything else?” Cresseida asked.

Rhys nodded. “He took Morrigan because she is the only person in Prythian who knows where Miryam and Drakon are.”

Cresseida gasped. “They’re alive?”

“It was supposed to remain a secret,” Rhys said, his lips curling just slightly, “but Jurian learned the truth.”

“Why would Hybern want them?” the princess of Adriata asked.

“I didn’t think he did at first,” Rhys admitted, “but Jurian certainly does. For Hybern, it’s not about them--it’s about their sanctuary. He’s looking for the Stone of Danann.”

The pulse of shock that ran through the High Fae in the room was palpable. “It’s . . . it’s real?” Lucien gasped.

“What is the Stone of Danann?” I asked, my voice small. Rhys’s grip around my waist tightened.

“It is said that the Stone of Danann can identify the true High King of the Fae,” Rhys said in a low voice. “More than that, if that king were to place his feet on the stone, it would rejuvenate him and give him a long reign. Hybern wants it to secure his eminence over this realm and the mortal realm.”

“But there’s never been a High King,” Elain said, her voice small. “Has there?”

“There was once,” Tarquin breathed. “His name was Dagda. He was there when the world was being formed from the Cauldron. It is said he was blessed by the Mother himself, and his descendents became the High Fae, and the first High Lords. He is the one who established the seven courts and put the seasons into order. He reigned for eight-hundred years from his palace in Hybern. He decreed that after him there would never be another High King, for the world was better ruled by the courts. His son was so furious that he killed Dagda for it, but it was too late. The Stone of Danann had been sent away, never to be found again. It’s been thousands of years since it was last seen.”

“I’ve never heard any of this,” I said, though my body trembled with the truth of it.

“Most High Fae don’t even believe the story anymore,” Tarquin said. “It was so long ago, and all the relics of his reign had gone missing. It’s considered little more than a myth now.”

“Hybern appears to believe it,” Cassian grunted.

“He ought to,” Rhys said, fixing his violet eyes on all of us in turn. “Because I learned last night something that no one else in all of Prythian knows. Hybern--or Angus, as he ought to be known--is Dagda’s son.”

“What?” Lucien demanded.

“The King of Hybern is Dagda’s son, and he killed his father millennia ago for refusing to pass the High King’s crown on to him.”

“That explains . . . a great deal,” Tarquin said, his frown deep.

“But not all,” Rhys said, raising a finger. “Because I learned one other thing that he has kept secret for millennia.”

We all waited for the revelation with bated breath, and there was a pregnant pause before Rhys finally said, “The King of Hybern is dying.”


	27. Chapter 27

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

“That’s impossible.” **  
**

It was Nesta who spoke, whirling from the window. I saw a glint of red at the throat and I realized with no small amount of surprise that one of Cassian’s Siphons was clasped around her throat. But just below that . . . I could see inflamed skin and whirled ink, just like the new marking on my own skin. My stomach soured and my eyesight went fuzzy. I swooned, and only Rhys’s solid body beside me jostled me enough to keep me conscious.

“For all other fae, that’s true,” Rhys told her, “but something has made Hybern sick, and he is going to die one day--soon, if his actions are any indication.”

“What could do that to a fae?” Elain asked.

Rhysand shook his head. “I don’t know. It has something to do with the crime he committed against his father, but I wasn’t able to get more than that.”

“So you just plucked all of this from Hybern’s mind?” Varian asked skeptically. “He just . . . let you take it?”

Rhys’s face darkened. “He didn’t _let_ me do anything, but as I said before, he exerted himself so much in breaking into our minds that his own defenses were weakened. It was no easy feat, but I think I managed to get away without him knowing I learned anything.”

“You saw Mor, though? She’s alive?” Azriel asked again, stepping forward.

“We made Hybern promise not to harm her,” Rhys assured him.

“How?” Cresseida asked, immediately suspicious. “How did you wring such a promise from him?”

“We bargained,” Rhys said. “We got time, and Mor’s safety, in exchange for a promise.”

“What promise?” Tarquin asked quietly.

“Hybern is using Mor to show him where the Stone of Danann is,” Rhys began, “but he cannot get to it without the two artifacts we possess or Feyre and her sisters. The bargain,” he said slowly and clearly, “is that we deliver these things to him by sundown on the Summer Solstice. He will refrain from attacking the mortal realm or harming Mor until that time. If we fail . . . he attacks.”

The silence in the room was thick and cold.

“You promised him what?” Lucien breathed, his hand clutching Elain’s shoulder tighter.

“Let me get this straight,” Nesta said, her voice pure, relentless steel. “You offered up our lives for nothing more than a little bit of time?” She was so still it was frightening, and Cassian’s Siphon glowed at her throat. The way she looked at my mate--like she was about to tear him into tiny pieces and scatter him on the wind . . . I couldn’t let him bear that, even though I knew he could.

I said, “He didn’t. I did.”

Nesta’s wrath-filled face snapped to me, and the utter betrayal on her face pierced me so deep--shattered something so fundamental--that a part of me turned hollow, empty, in a way that I hadn’t known in months.

“I had to distract Hybern while Rhys got information,” I continued. “I did everything I could think of to protect as many people as possible.”

“You’ve gambled with our _lives_!” Nesta seethed. Behind me, I felt Cassian shift slightly. Toward her. Between us. “My life is not a bargaining chip!” Nesta cried, baring her teeth. “Elain’s life is not a bargaining chip!” She was shrieking now. The ends of her hair caught flame, and I knew we were moments away from a meltdown.

I knew what I had to do. “I am a High Lady of Prythian,” I said, doing everything in my power to keep my voice from breaking. “I will gamble and bargain with what I please, if it means saving my people. I bow before nothing and no one except my crown.” I felt Rhys stiffen beside me. I stepped away from him, toward Nesta. “Do not question me again, Nesta.”

The words had the desired effect.

Nesta leapt at my throat, catching fire.

The moment her fingers touched my skin, I winnowed us away, out of the house and deep into the dark woods surrounding the estate.

I collapsed onto the ground, my sister on top of me, crying out as her hands burned my skin. I seized her wrists and seared them with ice, but it evaporated in the inferno of her rage. I snatched my hands away and winnowed across the clearing, away from her scorching body. My clothes were already in tatters where she had collided with me. I was not dressed for fighting--I was wearing nothing more than a modest robe over my nightclothes. If I had dared waste the magic, I could have conjured proper clothing for myself, but all my attention was focused on my raging sister.

I summoned knives of ice in my palms and flung them at her--not to kill, but to wound and weaken. They melted before they even made contact.

Bands of fire surged through the air toward me and I dove out of the way, chilling the air immediately around me to cool the flames before they touched me. “Nesta!” I barked after hitting the ground with my shoulder. I leapt up to my feet again, looking around frantically for some water. I could conjure some, but not nearly enough to douse my sister. I winnowed and ran around the clearing, dodging her flames, which seared the tree trunks and set the leaves on fire. The ground around her was turning black, and she was nothing but a living fire, blue at her core and white at the edges.

What had happened to her?

Finally--there. A pond. Tiny, but enough to help. I threw my arm toward it and summoned my water-wolves from its depths. They were murky and filled with patches of algae, but that did not prevent them from bolting at my sister and leaping on her, vanishing into steam when they made contact. But Nesta flickered--it had affected her, though barely. I sent another round of wolves, and she staggered back a step. It still wasn’t enough.

Fire. What could douse her fire?

Dousing wasn’t _working_.

My moment of hesitation cost me, and the edge of one of her bands of fire sent me flying back into the trunk of a tree. The breath whooshed out of me, and I was suffocating.

Suffocating!

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even stand properly. I couldn’t tell if my ribs were broken or if I was just winded, but I latched on to another power within me--the air I had gotten from the Day Court. I built up a wall of hardened air around me, and when she sent another blast toward me, it choked and sputtered against my shield.

Pulling myself into a sitting position, I threw my arms out in front of me and shoved the shield of air toward her, encasing her in it until I ordered it to press down on her. For a moment, my sister became a beacon in the dark forest, her fire contained to the shield my air had made, glowing gold and red. I clenched my fist.

The flame sputtered.

And went out.

Gasping with relief, I lowered my hands and struggled to get to my feet to approach where my sister laid. But the moment I got to my feet, I was thrown off of them again by a surge in the earth--a mound had lurched up beneath me, throwing me down to the ground again. Then a form towered over me--Nesta. But she was no longer made of flame. Now she seemed to be made entirely of hard-packed earth, and her fist came barrelling down onto my face. My head snapped down to the ground with a crack and I saw stars. I couldn’t see, couldn’t move fast enough to get away from her kick in my stomach, which felt like being assaulted by a large stone. I rolled away, gasping, struggling for breath and magic. “Nesta . . .” I gasped. I lashed water at her feet, turning them to mud and cementing them to the ground so she could not kick me again. She countered by throwing her full weight down onto me, and only rolling onto my back kept her from breaking my arm.

Her knees connected with my abdomen, sending all the air out of me. Then her stone hands were around my throat, pushing down, down . . .

“You betrayed us!” she roared, her voice like gravel, her eyes blank. “You never loved us! You’re a liar, Feyre! And in the end you’re just like Father . . . so caught up in your own problems that the rest of us are just tools to you!”

“Nesta--” I choked. “ _No_.” I couldn’t--I couldn’t fight her off. When I had lured her out here, I had thought I would be able to subdue her, calm her so she didn’t hurt anyone else. But now the trees around the clearing blazed, and my stone sister pinned me in the mud, killing me for what I had done to save her . . .

“I’m sorry,” I gasped as her thumbs moved to crush my windpipe.

In the next moment she went flying off of me, and the clearing went dark. Perhaps I blacked out for a moment, but I also realized that the fire on the trees had been put out with a crash of water, salt-scented, which now sprayed down on my face. I gasped for air and clutched my throat, rolling up in agony to see my sister--her stone flesh quickly turning normal again--pinned to the nearest scorched tree-trunk by ribbons of night. I whipped my head to see Rhysand standing at the edge of the clearing, Tarquin nearby.

My mate was murderous. His violet eyes had gone almost black, and night swirled around him like a storm, ebony and shadow, no hint of stars. It ruffled his fine clothes and lifted his hair from his brow. His power leaked out of him from every angle, and even his wings, which he usually kept cloaked here, flared out behind him. His teeth were bared, the hard angles of his face honed into a monster’s snarl. He looked like a harbinger of death--and his target was my sister.

I looked back at Nesta and saw that he had pinned her just like he had pinned the Attor after it had attacked me. It swirled around her arms and limbs, securing her beyond her ability to escape. Perhaps she had no form to escape the night. My eyes widened as I saw one of Rhysand’s tendrils caress her throat, just above Cassian’s Siphon. And my mind flashed with images of all the things he had broken like that--Ianthe’s hand, Keir’s arms, the Attor--and I knew that he was going to do the same to Nesta. Through our bond, I felt how much he wanted to.

“Rhysand,” I rasped. “Don’t. Please.” Though I was weak and burned, I sent my thoughts down the bond. _She’s angry and frightened. A wild thing, but not an enemy. Don’t hurt her._

And despite Rhysand’s intense focus on my sister, the death still in his eyes, he glanced at me when my message reached him. For a flash, his rage intensified at the sight of my injured body, and I heard Nesta choke, but I tugged on the bond again. _Please_. His shoulders sagged a fraction.

“Nesta!” The broken plea came not from me, but from another figure whom I hadn’t seen arrive, who’d been cloaked in shadow until now.

Cassian.

Rhysand snapped his face to Cassian just as I did. He lingered back behind Rhysand, but his eyes were locked on my sister. “Rhys, please,” he said, adding to my begging. Rhysand and I looked at each other again, and his eyes widened a fraction as he smelled something in the scorching air the same time I did.

The tendrils of night, which had already begun to loosen, entirely released my sister.

Her body slumped to the ground, and I rose to my feet and staggered across the distance between us. I collapsed beside her and drew her into my arms.

She quivered, and at my touch, she dissolved into tears.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Nesta cry.

Her clothes were unburnt. She seemed unharmed, except for the bruises Rhysand’s restraints had left around her arms and neck. Her finger gripped the scant bits of fabric that were left of my clothes--I was mostly bare at this point, but it was the least of my worries. I held Nesta’s head to my chest and smoothed her hair as she sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wailed, one of her hands finding my cheek.

“I know,” I murmured, tears flowing from my own eyes. “I’m sorry, too, Nesta. But I swear by the Mother and the Cauldron and everything else that is holy in this world, I will protect you from him. You and Elain both. Even if it means my life.” I meant it too, so deep in my soul that I couldn’t even touch it. I meant it like Rhys had meant it when he had enslaved himself to Amarantha for fifty years just protect his city, his friends. I meant like like I had meant it when I sacrificed myself to Amarantha for Prythian’s freedom. Only this time, my sacrifice would not be due to my own brokenness, but due to strength--the strength of my love for Rhys, for my sisters, for Prythian. I didn’t yet know if this would be enough to protect us from Hybern, but . . . it was all I had to give, all I had to swear on.

“I’m so scared, Feyre,” she murmured. “I’m going insane, and I can’t control it. Please . . . please help me.” She choked and another wave of tears wracked her body. I winced as her fingers pressed into the burns she had left all over my body,

“I will,” I promised. I looked up and saw that night had cloaked us--Rhys’s night. To give us privacy. I knew he still waited at the edge of the clearing, monitoring but not interfering. I could smell Cassian out there, too--by his scent which had shifted just slightly since we had left Velaris. As my sister’s had. Faint, but . . . noticeable. And the way he had begged for her . . .

After several long minutes, Nesta’s wails faded to whimpers, and she slumped against my aching and bare body, almost asleep. I sent a tug down the bond and the night surrounding us drifted away. I could see dawn--real dawn--peeking through the trees, lighting the forest around us with pale pinks and purples.

Rhys and Cassian approached in silence. Rhys gently peeled my sister away from me, hissing as I did at the injuries on my body. As he pulled Nesta away, I saw that the Siphon around her neck was shattered. Cassian didn’t seem to care as he cradled Nesta in his arms, propping her against her chest before walking into the dawn-dyed forest back toward the manor.

Rhys crouched before me, his hand tracing the curve of my shoulder as his eyes assessed my injuries--like a commander assessing one of his warriors. He locked eyes with me once, knocking my breath from me once more with the intensity of the whirling motions in their violet depths. He said nothing before he took my hand in his and winnowed us back to the manor.

\--

I awoke stiff later that day, the afternoon sun streaming in through my bedroom windows. The pain was dull, but I could tell that it was magical intervention--it would flare up again later. I lifted my head slightly and saw Rhys sitting at the end of the bed, his back propped against one of the four corner posts of the bed, his bare feet dug into the covers and his arms draped over his bent knees. He saw me move and sat up straighter. His eyes were glassy, with traces of red in them. “Feyre,” he croaked.

“How bad is it?” I asked. I didn’t dare look at my body, if the sight of it had been enough to wreck Rhys like this. He looked _awful_.

“Bad,” he said. “The burns aren’t healing properly. They’ll heal eventually, but much slower than usual . . .” He gritted his teeth. “Whatever unholy power your sister possesses, it took its toll on you.”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “Didn’t think she was more powerful than me. I just wanted her to let it out of her system . . . I didn’t know she’d--” I couldn’t finish the sentence. _Try to kill me_.

“I didn’t know either,” Rhys said in a strained voice. “That’s why I didn’t come right away. I--I didn’t think you’d need me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said, longing to reach out for him and hold his hand, but I couldn’t even sit up. He saw my fingers stretch, though, and he shifted himself on the bed so that he was on his knees beside me, and he took my hand and held it in his lap.

“I would have killed her,” he rasped, that indigo wrath lighting his eyes. “Feyre, I _wanted_ to kill her. You saw what I did to Keir just for calling you a--” His mouth wouldn’t even form the word. “I would have done worse. So much worse.” He shuddered at the macabre knowledge of his own power, the force of his own wrath.

“I know,” I said, gripping his hand tighter. He dealt with a monster under his skin just like I did. Sometimes the monster almost escaped even his tight control, but . . . thankfully it hadn’t this morning. Because of me. And Cassian . . .

He must have heard our friend’s name through our connection, because one black eyebrow lifted. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it’s possible,” I said. Neither of us quite dared to say the word out loud. _Mates_. The idea of Cassian and Nesta being mates was just as terrifying as it was amazing. But the way he had pled for her this morning, when she had been about to kill his High Lady and was on the receiving end of his High Lord’s wrath . . . this was Cassian. Cassian, whose loyalty to Rhys and to me knew no bounds, who had chosen to beg for Nesta’s life instead . . . that was the only thing that would explain it. Not to mention the fact that he had give her one of his Siphons, which I knew he treasured.

“It’s not secured,” Rhys said, and I nodded my agreement, “but it’s there. Do you think Nesta knows?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted, “but even if she did, she’s a bit preoccupied right now.”

“Perhaps once she’s free from the Cauldron,” Rhys mused. His eyes turned back to me. “You impressed me, by the way. I was watching the whole time, even if I didn’t intervene when I should have. Your planning, strategy . . . seems like you actually learned something from our training.”

“Turns out I can be taught,” I said. I laughed, but stopped when it sent ripples of discomfort through my body.

Rhys grimaced, but his eyes were warm. “Who would have thought?” he murmured before leaning over to kiss my forehead. When he sat up again, his face became serious. “We need to get you to the Dawn Court.”

I frowned. “Dawn’s allied with Hybern,” I said. They’d never give me any of their healing magic. “What about my blood?”

“We tried that,” Rhys said, looking a little guilty. “Tarquin’s healers added it to their salves, but it didn’t do much. Either it doesn’t work so well on your own wounds, or it’s not able to heal these particular injuries. So, we need some magic straight from Dawn.”

“How do you propose getting that?” I demanded.

“We need to go to the Day Court, which is right beside Dawn,” Rhys said. “While you are entertaining dear Lord Helion, I will be getting my hands on some Dawn magic . . . through illegal means, if necessary. Some for you, and some for Cassian. And some for Nesta, if she needs it.”

My closed lips turned up in a smile and I rested my head back against the pillow again. “I love you,” I sighed.

His shadow fell over me as his eyes met mine. “I know,” he said. Then he bent down and press a slow, soft kiss to my lips--excruciatingly gentle, enough to send my stomach swirling and make me wish I wasn’t so very, very injured. I kissed him back, enjoying the taste of him that I could get. “Rest up,” he murmured against my lips. “We’ll leave for the Day Court as you as you can support yourself on your own two feet.”

I sighed dramatically as he lifted himself away from me and off the bed, sauntering out of the room. My eyelids were heavier than I’d realized, but just before the door clicked shut behind him and I slipped into sleep, I heard him pause and say, “I love you too, Feyre darling.”


	28. Chapter 28

  
**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

I couldn’t sleep that night.

It wasn’t so much the pain and soreness, even though I did not prefer to sleep on my back. The burns on my thighs and torso kept me from sleeping on my side as I liked--curled against Rhysand, as I loved. I turned my head, pressing my cheek against the cool pillow and drinking in the sight of him--the way the moon painted streaks of light over his angled face, relaxed in his sleep. His hair, mussed, hung over his brow, and he seemed so peaceful. No nightmares for him tonight, at least not yet. He slept with one arm over his head, the other draped over his strong, muscular body so that his limp fingers brushed my arm.

I thought he looked like a young god, hewn from the stars themselves, always fighting the darkness but filling the world with the light of his dreams. I wanted to paint him like this, but I knew that even after centuries of painting I wouldn’t be able to capture half of his essence on the canvas. My other arm crossed my body, twinging as the burned skin stretched, and took his fingers in my hand, pressing them once to my mouth. He stirred, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, but he did not wake.

I wished sleep like his could come to me tonight, but I could not stop thinking about Nesta. About Elain. About all the hell they’d been through, and because of me. It was my fault, really, what had happened to Nesta. If I hadn’t been such a fool, so entrenched in my own trauma, I might have been able to see Ianthe for the snake she was. And it didn’t matter how guilty I felt about killing her--I also believed that Ianthe could die a thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough to make up for what she’d done to my sisters.

If I hadn’t been so stupid in trusting her, Nesta and Elain would still be mortal--still be living ordinary, if mundane lives, safe from the threats that now plagued them both from within and without. Elain might be marrying a dull lord, but she wouldn’t be threatened by a murderous tyrant. Nesta might be hard and alone, but she wouldn’t have magic tearing her apart from the inside out.

She blamed me. I knew she did. That was what this morning had been all about. And I did not fault her one bit for it. It was why I had not breathed a word of complaint about my burns and bruises, even when I had managed to get up once to relieve myself earlier and had seen the ugly shining skin on the sides of my thighs and my upper arms. My palms were burned, too, from when I had gripped Nesta’s burning wrists--it made undressing myself complicated, to say the least. Not to mention the ring of finger-shaped burns and bruises around my neck. The bruises were healing faster, but the burns were tight and sensitive, flaring red, practically pointing to the King of Hybern’s mark on my skin between my collarbones.

I deserved every single mark. My sisters . . . they had their flaws. They’d made mistakes. But they didn’t deserve any of this. I, on the other hand . . .

“Feyre, darling.” I turned my head to see my mate scanning my face with his fathomless violet eyes. His face was sleep fogged and he hadn’t moved, except to lift his hand to brush away a strand of hair from my forehead. “Don’t let the hard days win,” he murmured.

My breath hitched in my chest at the reminder of Mor’s words, the realization that she had likely said the same thing to him many times. Tears brimmed in my eyes, and I hesitated for a moment before asking, “What was her name?”

His brows furrowed just slightly. “Whose name?”

“Your sister’s.” My heart clenched and I sucked in a breath, fearful that I would open some wound in him by asking, wondering if he had never spoken her name for a reason.

He was quiet for a moment, his expression unchanging, before he said, “Aderyn. Her name was Aderyn.” He smiled sadly. “My mother called her ‘little bird.’” His eyes twinkled at the memory--at the obvious irony of Aderyn being called a bird when she’d had bat wings like the rest of them.

“I wish I could meet her. Your mother, too,” I said, looking back up at the ceiling.

Rhys slid his hand over my stomach, which was still black and blue from Nesta’s stone knees but didn’t hurt as badly as the burns. “They would have loved you,” he murmured. He began to rub slow, soothing circles over my skin. His voice was tight as he said, “I wish they could have met you, too.”

We didn’t say anything else to each other. I just lost myself in the feeling of Rhys’s fingers on my skin, stroking smooth patterns. I knew he understood--he had told me about the guilt he still felt over the death of his sister, and I knew he could sense the same guilt in me now. But his fingers, his voice, his calm breathing, assured me that I could fight past it--that it wasn’t too late. Because I could still save my sisters.

I could still save myself.

-

The Illyrians began to arrive the following day. I insisted on going to meet them despite my injuries. I could walk slowly, but not like a sloth. If I kept my hips even and didn’t shift my weight too much, I managed not to irritate the burns on my thighs. Rhys offered to carry me, but one glare from me had had him raising his hands in apologetic surrender. I wore a light, sleeveless gossamer gown cut in Night Court fashion--not only because it would help my image with the Illyrians but because it kept the fabric from brushing and sticking to the salve-slathered injuries. Rhys had helped me dress--taking wicked delight in stroking and pinching the uninjured parts of me as he did. “Usually I’m _undressing_ you,” he had remarked with a wolfish grin when he helped me step into my underthings--and perhaps allowed his fingers to linger a little too long beneath them once they were in place.

“Hands to yourself,” I grumbled, even though just the slightest touch of his had me anticipating more. I knew if we started we would both regret it. He understood that too and helped me into the rest of my clothes without further comment--or roving fingers. I had wanted to pick an outfit that would cover my neck and hide the new marking, but the rest of my skin couldn’t bear to be covered. Already the bruises were starting to turn green around the edges, though the burns remained.

“You look like you spilled paint on yourself,” Rhys said when he finished, stepping back to observe me.

I lifted my eyebrows, unconvinced. “Nice try.” I knew I looked terrible.

He shrugged. “The Illyrians will like the look of you--seeing that you came out of the other end of that fight in one piece, and walking. Injuries like that are badge of honor.”

“Is it Devlon’s group?” I asked as we walked beside each other down to breakfast. I hadn’t eaten properly in a while, and Tarquin’s healers insisted it was necessary for my recovery. Thankfully, I didn’t need them to convince me to eat. I was starving.

“Yes, and a few others,” Rhys said. “Show them your wings, too--that will help. They’re all boorish brutes, of course, but anything to establish you as their High Lady--as one of them--is important.”

“Ah yes, my impressive wings,” I said wryly.

Rhys chuckled as he caught my meaning and then leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek--the one unbruised from Nesta’s fist. “After we get you healed, I’ll teach you how to fly.”

“You’d better, or else I’ll just ask Azriel instead.”

Rhys rolled his eyes and grumbled, but he still smirked.

When I sat at the table I realized with no small amount of annoyance that I could not properly work a fork. My fingers were too swollen and sensitive. Holding back whatever snarky comment he wanted to make, Rhys began forking food onto my plate, choosing whatever I pointed to. He even offered to feed me, but I couldn’t handle that humiliation, so I figured out how to pluck the food with the ends of my fingers and pop it into my mouth. I helped myself to sausages and fruits and pastries, filling my very, very empty stomach. Rhys watched me with intense interest, his eyes fixed on my mouth, entirely forgetting his own plate.

I heard a small gasp come from the doorway and I looked up to see Elain standing there, Lucien at her side. Lucien’s golden eye whirred as he took me in, his mouth set in a grim line. Elain’s eyes were wide as she absorbed my injuries.

“I’m all right,” I said, standing to approach them. Elain’s face said she didn’t believe me. “Or I will be, before long. How is Nesta?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said quietly. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

Lucien glared at me as he walked past and sat at the table, shoveling eggs onto his plate. I knew without having to use any magic exactly why he was pissed at me.

“I heard from Amren that you’re going to the Day Court?” Elain asked, noticing Lucien’s mood but choosing not to comment on it.

I nodded. “We need to secure Lord Helion’s alliance and find out if he can separate Nesta from the Cauldron. Perhaps he also knows something about Hybern and the Stone of Danann.”

Just then, Amren floated into the room--the first time I’d really seen her since we’d arrived from Velaris. She had preferred to stay locked away in her room, avoiding the stares of the Summer Court faeries, though she’d occasionally emerged to taunt Varian. Seeing her in this strange place was jarring--like she was not meant for it, like she was too big for it, even though she was in a body so small. “If you wanted to know about the Stone of Danann, you could have just asked,” Amren purred, slinking into a seat and putting her feet on the table as she reclined in a chair. Her eyes looked me up and down, but she made no remark on my battered state.

“I haven’t seen you since,” I muttered, though she had a point. Amren was ancient, and if anybody was to know something about the histories Prythian had forgotten . . . it would be her.

“What do you know about it?” Lucien asked, and Amren’s eyes flashed. Ah. No one had warned him about her yet.

Amren’s lip curled as she said, “I was alive when it was hewn from the stones of the ancient mountain and erected at its peak.”

Lucien looked her up and down, now properly wary. “Did you see it?” he asked.

Amren’s look became even more deadly. “I was in the Prison then.”

Lucien fell silent entirely, unable to form another question after that revelation.

I thought about the little I knew about Amren--she had not yet been Fae when she had been in the Prison. She’d been something wilder . . . worse. Something that had not belonged to this world, and yet even now she did not deign to elaborate on just what that was. “The Stone,” she continued, flexing her fingers to admire how the jewels there flashed in the early morning light, “sat atop the sacred mountain for millennia . . . which is why it was sacred. In the millennia after Dagda, may tried to climb to its peak and set their feet on the Stone--usually puffed-up High Lords, but not always. They usually didn’t survive the trip. But it became one of those claims to honor--one could say ‘I’ve been to the mountain,’ and have everyone bow at their feet, even if they’d done no more than stand at the base. It was one of the ways that the High Lords gained influence over the human realm and the lesser fae alike.”

“Rhys said that the High Fae are descendants of Dagda,” I said. “Where did the lesser fae come from, then?”

Amren’s lips curled up. “It’s a lie that only High Fae come from Dagda. Truthfully, all fae do--that’s why they call him the All-Father. But lesser fae are mixed . . . their heritage lies not only with Dagda and their other High Fae ancestors, but with . . . other things. Things that are not truly fae at all.”

The way she said it suggested that it was unwise to ask, that these things had been forgotten or put aside for a reason. I knew Amren, and knew that she kept certain things private for very good reasons. I was not brave enough to ask her to elaborate.

Lucien, however, seemed to have no such problem. “And what things, exactly, do you mean?”

There was a flash of white teeth as Amren snarled--not like she actually planned to attack, but simply to remind Lucien that she could. “Fomorians.”

The moment she spoke the word, everyone in the room trembled--even Rhys. I could not explain the utter terror that had plunged through my veins at the pronunciation of the word, as though some wild part of me deep down knew that whatever the Fomorians had been, I ought to be afraid of them.

“And those are?” Lucien asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“There was a world before the Cauldron--barely,” Amren said. “And in it lived the Fomorians. They’d come from another world, once, but had found the dark and wildness of the not-yet-Prythian to their liking. Then the Mother brought the Cauldron and formed the other fae with it--and Dagda was among them. There’s still debate about whether he is of the Cauldron or not. I remember hearing once a suspicion that Dagda was Fomorian himself. But most who spoke such a thing were killed on the spot, if I remember correctly.” Her fingers stilled in the air and she looked off into the distance, as though remembering something she wished she hadn’t.

I swallowed, my mouth tasting of sawdust even though I’d just eaten a flavorful breakfast. “The Book of Breathings is written in Fomorian, isn’t it?” My way of asking what she was.

Amren smiled through closed lips. “The Fomorians did not have a written language. The Book of Breathings is written in an approximation of it--ancient fae lettering attempting to transcribe the Book’s contents.” She sensed my next question and continued, “The maker of the Cauldron was not fae. It is not even certain that the maker was Fomorian, either. Perhaps something beyond, something different. Like the Mother, only . . . dark. Fond of the Fomorians, for the Cauldron fell into their possession for a time. Even I don’t know all the details of that time, but . . .” She didn’t have to say it. I had seen civilized High Fae shred each other to bits--my body currently bore the marks of such a fight. I could only imagine what the Fomorians were capable of, especially with the Cauldron.

“Dagda eventually got the Cauldron back from the Fomorian-friendly king before him,” Amren continued, “and he hid it. Then it went missing and . . . well. Now we’re here.”

My mind swam, struggling to process all this information. There was a whole other age to Prythian that I had never heard about--it seemed no one had ever heard about it. “That’s all you know?” I murmured.

Amren’s face was like stone. “You’re best to go to the High Lord of Day for the rest,” she said, nimbly avoiding answering my question. “His libraries hold more information than I can offer.”

“Amarantha raided those libraries,” Lucien said. “Do you think she found out about the Fomorians? Told Hybern about them?”

“I think it’s very likely,” Rhys cut in, his expression distant and cold. “She had no personal interest in them. She was rather content with conquering Prythian and fancying herself High Queen.”

“Preposterous,” Amren scoffed. “The Stone of Danann wasn’t even in Prythian anymore by the time she wormed her slimy ass in.”

“Where did it go?” I asked, looking between Amren and Rhys, the only people who seemed likely to know.

“After Angus--Hybern--killed Dagda,” Rhys said, “there was a window of time in which those loyal to Dagda stole the Stone off the mountain and hid it on an island in the Erythrian Sea. No one knew where it went, and it stayed hidden there. The mountain was still considered sacred, though the reason for that had vanished and faded into myth.”

“How do you know about that?” I asked. “If the Stone hasn’t been seen in so long . . .”

“I know about it because I’ve seen it,” Rhys said, his words rushed in a sort of reverent awe. “I saw it in Mor’s mind, after Amarantha. She showed it to me to help give me hope, after everything, to remind me of what Miryam and Drakon had achieved and what was still out there worth fighting for. She had seen it when she helped Miryam and Drakon escape Prythian after the War. Mor picked the place, and I’m not sure if she chose that particular island because she knew the Stone was there or the the Mother was intervening without our knowledge, but . . . Miryam and Drakon have never left that island, not only to achieve peace for themselves, but because they knew someone would have to protect the Stone. Hybern had not been ended in the War, and they knew he would continue searching. So they made that island--the Fortunate Island--their home, and they and their descendants have stayed there since.”

Tears pricked my eyes at the thought of Mor, who had given so much of herself time and time again--to Miryam, to Rhys, to me . . . we had to get her back. Long before Summer Solstice, if possible. “We need to get Mor away from Hybern so she can’t tell him where the island is,” I said, “and then we need to go there ourselves to warn Miryam and Drakon.”

“First things first,” Rhys said, reaching for my hand and pausing when he remembered my burns. “We need you healed, and we need to separate Nesta from the Cauldron. We can’t go anywhere near the Spring Court until that happens. And it would help if we could learn more about Hybern himself, Dagda, all of it. And the Day Court should help us.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Lucien demanded. “Do we just sit around and wait here until you get back?”

Rhys’s eyes glinted. “You’re all aware of the bargain Feyre made,” he said, his voice like blades, “but in all the excitement everyone has forgotten that _I_ made no such bargain with him. So I am completely free to launch attacks against Hybern’s forces on this side of the wall whenever I please.”

A whoosh of breath escaped my chest. Even _I_ had overlooked that detail. I grinned. Fae trickery--for once I was glad of it.

Rhys looked Lucien up and down. “You were too young for the War,” he remarked. “What sorts of training _do_ you have?”

“I can fight well enough. I learned a thing or two from my father’s forces before I left,” Lucien said. “If I may, my real benefit to you might be on the auxiliary end. I have a way of . . . getting around things. Sending messages, spreading word.”

“What _can_ you do, Lucien?” I asked, realizing that I had never quite asked or received an explanation about what his powers entailed.

He shrugged a second time. “Typical Autumn Court magic,” he replied nonchalantly.

Elain huffed in irritation. “He’s being modest,” she said. “He can walk through the borders.”

I snapped my head to him. “What?” I gasped, and I was surprised to see his face colored in blush.

“It’s why I was able to help on Calanmai,” he admitted, not meeting my eye. “For the rest of my family, it’s just anything connected to the Autumn Court--Spring, Summer, Winter. But for me, the longer I stay in a place, the easier it is to get through any border, no matter the wards. I can . . . I can see the enchantments.” He tapped his temple near his metal eye. “It works on some glamours, wards, that sort of thing. Usually the better I know a person the easier it is.”

My lips parted. “So you can see through my glamour right now?”

Lucien grimaced. “If I wanted to. Thankfully I get to choose--and I can be quite stubborn about it.”

“That explains why you were always suspicious of me,” I said.

Lucien nodded. “I didn’t want to see it, so I didn’t for a while, even though it nagged at me. And the ability to see through the glamours and enchantments is only because of the eye. The moving through . . . that’s my own skill.”

I turned to see Rhys grinning broadly. “Oh, Azriel will _love_ you,” he said.

Just then, we all looked up at the sound of a shouted argument coming from the corridor outside. It wasn’t difficult for Rhys and I to tell who it was.

Cassian. Of course.

Rhys pushed his chair back from the table, pausing once he was up to pull my chair out and help me to my feet, careful of my burns. Together we walked toward the door, which swung open without either of us having to touch it. When they opened to the corridor, we were not surprised to find Cassian bearing down on Varian, his face cool rage while Varian’s was cool and calm as ever. My step stuttered just slightly when I saw Nesta beside Cassian, though her face was downturned. The fingers of her left hand were hooked around Cassian’s elbow in the slightest point of contact, but she said nothing--didn’t even looked at Varian.

“You heard what I said,” Tarquin’s captain of the guard said. “She’s not welcome at the house anymore.”

“Where else is she supposed to go?” Cassian demanded. “What happened yesterday was an anomaly. She’s been fine since.”

“Because she’s burned out,” Varian argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about when she’s rested again? How much more of Tarquin’s forest will she destroy then?”

Cassian opened his mouth again, but Nesta interjected, “He’s right, Cassian. I don’t belong here.” She sounded tired. Meek. I’d never seen her like that.

“What exactly is going on?” Rhys asked, though we’d both already gotten the idea.

“Lord Tarquin says that Lady Nesta has exhausted her welcome on this estate. She does not have to leave the Summer Court, but she cannot stay here,” Varian explained.

“That’s bullshit. What’s she supposed to do? Sleep outside?” Cassian seethed.

“Thank you, Varian, we understand,” Rhys said, and Cassian’s face snapped up to him. Varian was satisfied enough and strode away haughtily. I liked him less and less the more we were here.

“Your legion is here,” Rhys said, “and we’re paying them a visit. Bring Nesta with us.”

Cassian’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m letting her _anywhere near_ \--”

“Letting me?” Nesta inquired, a trace of her spark appearing. “I’ll go where I please.”

Cassian growled. “If you think I’m a beast, those soldiers are--”

“I think I can handle it,” she said, fixing her cool eyes on him and removing her hand from his elbow.

“She won’t be staying long,” Rhys assured Cassian. “We’ll only be there long enough to set things in order, then we’re going to the Day Court to find out about getting that Cauldron away from her.” Rhys’s eyes looked me over. “Feyre should be all right to go tomorrow. The bruises, at least, will be gone by then.” There was an edge to his voice, and I knew he was trying to goad Nesta, to call attention to what she had done to me. I wished he wouldn’t, but it was too late. Nesta’s gaze finally fell on me, and she went deathly pale.

“Feyre,” she murmured, her eyes glistening. “What did I do to you?”

“I’ve had worse,” I said truthfully, but that just made her face crumple further.

“You’re not healing,” she observed, her voice small.

“Something special about your fire,” I said with a grimace, “but I’ll get it taken care of. Cassian and I just get to be invalid together for a while.” I winked at Cassian, who huffed a laugh in spite of himself.

“Well, shall we go?” I asked, looking at them all. “Frankly, I’d rather get this taken care of sooner rather than later.” I didn’t want to say why--I was already aching, even through the tonics and salves.

Still, Rhys seemed to know. He held his arm out to me and said, his voice a blend of delight and malice, “Let’s go start a war.”


	29. Chapter 29

  


**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

Rhys winnowed both Cassian and Nesta to the camp first, and then came back for me. Before he had taken Nesta, he had evaluated her and then snapped his fingers, exchanging her Summer Court dress into black Illyrian fighting leathers.  


“What on earth is this?” Nesta had demanded, plucking at the clothes in distaste. “Am I wearing . . . pants?” Even all those years we had lived in the hovel, Nesta had refused to wear pants or leggings, thinking them too crude for her station.

“Cassian has a point about the Illyrians,” Rhys had said with a shrug. “They’ve no particular regard for the Summer Court, and the best way to get them to mind their own business around you is to look like one of them.”

“He did the same thing for me,” I had said, though I had been far more comfortable in such clothes by the time we’d ever set foot in an Illyrian camp. “Own it.”

Nesta’s eyes had flashed at the challenge, and she’d lifted herself to her proud posture. The looking was stunning on her--the way the leathers hugged her new fae body, revealing almost no skin but showing off her beauty all the same. Rhys had even accounted for the shattered Siphon around her neck--which she still had not removed, and it gleamed at her throat, concealing Hybern’s mark on her skin. Her brass hair was pulled tightly from her face with pins, drawing attention to the sharp angles and distinguished slant of her nose and her new Fae ears. The rest of it cascaded in golden-brown waves down her back. I wished I could be in leathers, but there was no way I would be able to bear it.

After Rhys had winnowed the two of them away, he’d come back for me. “Are you ready to face your soldiers, High Lady?” he purred, brushing my temple with his nose and he folded my tattooed arm around him.

“The question should be: are they ready to face me?” I asked with more bravado than I felt. I spread my wings behind me, thankful that they hadn’t been injured in my fight with Nesta.

Rhys chuckled and we winnowed.

Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians had chosen to make their base in the small mountains at the heart of Tarquin’s territory, just to the west of the forest where we’d been taking shelter. Their tents were already scattered over the rock faces, some dangerously close to steep drops, and I saw many of them running flying maneuvers in the sky above, their dark wings blots against the summer sky.

Rhys had brought us to the center of the camp, where Cassian and Nesta were waiting. Groups of Illyrians were already eying them from the edges of the clearing, none of them approaching--yet.

Then I saw Lord Devlon approaching from deeper in the camp, his men flanking him as they had the last time. “Pitiful mountains,” he declared to Rhys, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Save your complaints, Devlon,” Rhys said, his voice honed to the High Lord’s edge. “We have work to do, and I would rather not waste time.”

Lord Devlon surveyed the four of us. “Your other dog already came to tell us you were coming,” he sneered. His eyes flicked to Cassian. “Probably because this one is worthless.”

Cassian snarled, baring his teeth at Devlon. Nesta didn’t even flinch, only took in the entire exchange with cool indifference.

Devlon’s eyes finally marked her. “What’s this? Another pet?” He looked at me and grinned. “A matching set, I see.” He betrayed no sense of surprise at my wings, though I stretched them broader.

Cassian was practically spitting fire, but Rhys remained calm, his eyes glinting with icy rage. “I would not speak of your High Lady in such a way.”

This caused Devlon to start. “My _what_?” he hissed.

“Surprise,” I said mildly, inspecting the fingernails on my right hand--long and black as I made them whenever I stepped into this role--casually displaying my tattoo.

Devlon was clearly livid and went speechless for a moment, his nostrils flaring and dark eyes narrowing. “Not much of a High Lady with all those injuries,” he jabbed. “Who did _that_ to you?”

“She did,” I said smoothly, gesturing to Nesta. My sister stiffened a fraction, but seemed to understand that I was doing her a favor--the same one Rhys had done me the first time we had been among the Illyrians. Establishing her as a threat would ensure that none of these brutish Illyrians would harm her. “If she can do this to _me_ ,” I continued as calmly as though I was remarking on the weather, “imagine what she can do to any of your grunts who dare lay a finger on her.” Devlon’s lip curled, but I continued, “ _Then_ imagine what I and Lord Rhysand will do to them once Nesta is through with them. Then Cassian after that . . . I think you get the picture.” I smiled viciously at him, and I relished the waves of loathing rippling off of him. He finally noticed the shattered Siphon at my sister’s neck and paled.

“You are not in the Illyrians Steppes now, Devlon,” Rhys said, hands in his pockets. “You will obey your commander, and you will play nicely with the Summer Court troops. In exchange you’ll get to paint the Spring and Autumn fields red with enemy blood. Does that sound like a fair exchange?” The question was not a question at all--rather a threat. _Behave, or else_.

“You expect my men to take orders from a bastard, grounded commander who let his wings get shredded?” Devlon spat, fixing his eyes on Cassian. “He’s a disgrace to the Illyrians and always has been. Appoint someone else.”

“Disgrace?” The cool, clear voice was not Rhysand’s, and it was not mine. It was Nesta who spoke and took a step closer to the Illyrian leader. She fixed her ice-cold eyes on him and looked him up and down, weighing and measuring him--and finding him wanting. “Tell me, Lord Devlon, what have you ever sacrificed for the good of your men? For your realm? Those precious wings of yours . . . would you give them up for what mattered most to you, or would you curl into a pathetic ball and let the people who depend on you die just so you could keep them? If such a sacrifice is considered a disgrace among your kind, then I shudder to think of our chances in this war--if every Illyrian will bolt at the slightest threat to his wings.”

The shock and fury in the air was palpable, hanging the silence between my sister and the Illyrian camp leader. “It would have been better if he’d died,” Devlon sneered, never tearing his eyes away from Nesta.

“I see.” The smile on her face sent chills even through me as she lifted her hands in front of her. One was lit with hungry flames, and the other held a stake that she seemed to have formed from nothing--like she had with the steel shield on Calanmai. “If I told you I would pin you to this mountainside and make you watch as I razed this camp to the ground, would you tear your wings to get free and save your people? Or would you stay there and wait for the flames to consume you too, rather than wreck those appendages that you love so much?”

“ _Bitch_ ,” Devlon hissed, his face contorted in rage.

“Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice low.

But Nesta only chuckled, extinguishing the flames and causing the stake to melt right back into her flesh. “That’s what I thought.”

“What do you want?” Lord Devlon demanded of Rhys, tearing his eyes away from my sister. His men, however, kept their eyes on her, never letting their guard down. Exactly what she’d wanted.

“I think I’ve already made that quite clear,” Rhys said, a slight sneer lifting his lips. “Obey your commander, or whoever he puts in charge in his stead. Ensure our safety here for the night.” His violet eyes flicked to Nesta and Cassian. “And I need two more Siphons.”

“ _Two_?” Devlon demanded, aghast.

“Has all that time in the mountains rid you of your ability to count?” Rhys asked scathingly. He held up his fingers. “Two. One for your commander, and one for . . . her.”

Devlon looked back at Nesta, who flashed a wicked smile at him. “Fine.” He grunted. As he turned to leave, he waved his hand at the tents around him. “Pick one. I don’t care which. Just . . . keep that one on a leash.” He jerked his chin at Nesta, who gave him only a cool glane in return. At last, he stalked away with his entourage, leaving us to pick a tent and get comfortable until Devlon prepared his leaders for Cassian’s orders.

Rhys laughed as he sank down onto a stool in the tent, his wings dragging on the floor behind him. “Well done, Nesta,” he said with a grin, looking appreciatively at my sister.

Nesta huffed. “He needed to be taken down a few pegs.”

“Did you see the fear in his eyes?” Rhys asked me, leaning forward in excitement. “I’ve been waiting to see him like that for years.”

Cassian said nothing, only took a seat on the cot, folding his wings behind him with a wince. Rhys’s face softened, and he said, “Are you all right, brother? I know . . . I know this isn’t easy.”

“Damn right it isn’t,” Cassian bit back, but it didn’t sound as fierce as he’d likely intended. “I’m setting things in order, then I’m going. I can’t--I can’t be here like this.”

Nesta huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop with the self-pity. It’s unattractive.”

Cassian’s shoulders stiffened, and he turned his head slowly to look at her, jaw tight. There was a devious glint in his eyes. “Does that mean you find me attractive otherwise, Nesta?”

Blue flames lit in my sister’s eyes, but she did not dignify him with a response.

While they’d bickered, I had immediately grabbed the knife from my waist and approached Cassian. “I haven’t had the opportunity,” I said tightly, stretching out my arm before him, “but I want to offer this chance to you. If it will make it easier--if it will help . . .”

Cassian opened his mouth to say something, eyes wide, but before the knife could touch my skin Rhys snatched the blade away from me. “Feyre, are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “You’re too injured to be doing that right now.”

“You said if I wanted to--”

“Yes, before you had burns all over your body that could get infected if you’re not careful,” Rhys said. “Now is not the time to be cutting yourself open. Even if there’s a good reason.” Despite the hard set of his jaw, his eyes were soft. He knew. He knew how badly I wanted to help, but . . . he was right.

_I’m sorry, Feyre_ , he said through the bond. _This isn’t about me--I hope you know that._

_I do_ , I murmured back. _I just . . . nothing I’m doing to help seems to be doing any good, but this . . ._

_There will be a time_ , Rhys promised. B _ut for now, whatever healing magic you have needs to be saved for your own recovery_. His eyes raked over me, fixing for a moment on Hybern’s mark on my chest. _You have no idea how much I loathe seeing another’s mark on you._

I had not good response to that, so I just ran a mental finger down the bond, and he shuddered.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Nesta quipped, rolling her eyes at our silent conversation.

“You could do it too, if you wanted, Nesta,” Rhys reminded her.

“No thank you. My own thoughts are plenty,” she said.

The flap of the tent peeled back slightly and a face I hadn’t seen in a while poked in. “Azriel,” I said with a smile, turning to face him.

“They said you’d arrived,” he remarked, his lips lifted in a slight smile. Then he looked at me and saw my burns, and the light slipped away from his face.

Cauldron boil me. I had completely forgotten. “I’m all right,” I assured him quickly. “They look bad, but . . .” But what? What could I say that could possibly make him separate the sight of my burns from the scar mottling his own hands? I said a prayer of thanks that he had not seen the fight that night. I knew it probably would not have been the first time he’d seen weaponized fire since his childhood, but I doubted that would make the associations any less painful.

“These Illyrian beasts giving you too much trouble?” Rhys asked, striding across the tent to lock arms with his spymaster.

“Nothing worse than usual,” Azriel remarked, tearing his eyes away from me. From my burns.

“Think you’ll be able to hold down the fort while we trek north?” Cassian asked with a grin.

Azriel almost rolled his eyes. “I’ll manage. But I trust you’ve got others lined up?”

“I do,” Cassian confirmed with a nod. He and Azriel began running over the list of name of battalion leader, those they would trust to lead the offensive against the Autumn, Dawn, and Spring Courts while Cassian was away.

“Any luck on the wards?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel’s swarming shadows darkened. “No. I’ve gotten some sources from other parts of the Spring Court--enough to know where Autumn is stationed and what their movements might be. But as for the manor . . .” His hazel eyes flicked to me again, this time fixing on Hybern’s mark. “Still nothing.”

“Lucien volunteered to help,” I offered. “Apparently he has a skillset you might find useful.”

Azriel’s eyebrows lifted. “Is he willing to go back? To scout?”

“You’d have to ask.”

“What about Elain?” Nesta demanded. “If Lucien goes, who’ll protect her?”

“Just a week ago you were opposed to them even speaking to each other,” I reminded her.

She glared at me. “Things change,” she said.

“Elain will be perfectly safe with Tarquin,” Rhys assured her. “He’s still rather fond of her, and he’s not the sort to punish her just because he’s sour with you.”

“I never know with you Fae,” Nesta said. Azriel and I glanced at each other, but no one remarked on her turn of phrase.

“I’d forgotten,” Azriel said, reaching into the pouch at his side. He tossed something to Cassian, and then to Nesta. “Devlon sends his regards, and says he’ll meet with you tonight.”

“Arrogant bastard,” Cassian scoffed, even as he turned the Siphon over in his fingers and began attaching it to his pauldron.

Rhys sat across from Azriel and began to talk strategy with him, and I sat beside them, thankful to get off my feet and reduce the strain on the burns on my thighs. Though I tried to keep my attention on Rhys and Azriel, my focus was drawn to Cassian, who had risen to walk to the back of the tent where Nesta stood, cupping her own Siphon in her hands. “Here,” he murmured, taking it from her. He held it in one hand as he gestured for her to turn around with one finger. She obeyed, and he scooped her hair away from the back of her neck like a curtain, laying it gently over her shoulder. She held it with one hand, her chin tilted just slightly so she could watch him remove the shattered red Siphon from around her neck. He passed it to her, and then set about fixing the new Siphon there. His fingers paused a moment at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder before he drew her hair over to fall down her back as it had before.

She turned to face him, and I got a good look at the Siphon--it was made of a clear, hard stone, not quite a diamond. Within its chiseled body there swirled inexplicable streaks of blue and gray mineral.

It matched her eyes exactly.

Those piercing eyes locked with Cassian’s, and there was a breathless pause before she murmured “Thank you,” and immediately turned away from him to curl up on one of the cots, pretending with no success at all that she was tired.

I looked away before Cassian noticed that I had seen. But I couldn’t keep the smile from lifting my lips. It seemed they weren’t totally running from whatever was between them--though I knew it would take a miracle before either of them would truly admit to anything.

Cassian sat across from me and joined the conversation between the High Lord and the spymaster, but I noticed his eyes constantly flicking over to Nesta’s back. Once, they met my knowing gaze instead. I raised an eyebrow, and Cassian only scowled.

Not all wars were fought with soldiers.


	30. Chapter 30

**  
** **CHAPTER THIRTY**

Rhysand and I, along with Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta joined Lord Devlon and his Illyrian commanders around a fire after the evening meal that night so that Cassian and Rhys could delegate and plan their military strategy for the coming weeks. It seemed that Autumn Court would be the first target, but the war would begin in their territory, not in Summer Court. They wanted to catch the Autumn Court fighters by surprise. There was a good deal of arguing and shouting involved. I sat beside Nesta, mostly listening. Rhys had offered to let both of us stay in the tent, but I had insisted on coming as High Lady, and he didn’t dare argue with me. **  
**

Nesta refused to be left out, and so she sat beside me, listening and calculating and learning about the Illyrians as only Nesta could. Every so often her eyes slid to my neck, where the burns lingered. The bruises had already turned a mottled yellow and green and would probably be gone by morning, but the burns remained as shining red skin and yellowing blisters--none, thankfully had gone deep, but as Rhys had mentioned earlier there was still a risk of infection. Neither of us were particularly worried, but Nesta had yet to accept the fact that she had done this to me--and the fact that I had already forgiven her.

For her sake, I tried not to show my discomfort too much, but by the time the sun had set, I itched and ached and needed to be alone to reapply Tarquin’s salves. I sent a message through the bond to Rhys, who expertly disentangled himself from the proceedings and stood to escort me back to our tent. I gave Nesta a look indicating that she could come along, but she shook her head once and stayed, sliding just a little bit closer to Cassian.

Once we were alone in the tent, Rhys helped me slip out of my gown so that I stood before him in just my underthings, revealing the full scope of my burns and bruises. He knelt before me and began to examine me. He clicked his tongue in satisfaction at the fading bruises, but when his fingers brushed the edges of my burns, I hissed.

He snapped his fingers to summon the tin of salve and immediately began applying the cool creams to the raised skin. “How are you doing it?” he asked, holding me still with one hand as I cringed away from his cool touch.

“Doing what?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

“Not complaining, even a little. Most everyone I know--including Cassian, hell, including _me_ \--would be griping constantly.”

“For Nesta,” I said with a tight voice as he moved to the burn on my other thigh. “She feels bad enough as it is. And I don’t need anyone’s pity. I deserve this for that bargain I made.”

“Feyre,” Rhys said, his voice almost scolding.

“I’m not punishing myself,” I insisted, though I knew it sounded like I was. “I’m just accepting the consequences. And complaining will only slow me down.”

Rhys laughed low in his throat and set the tin down, wrapping his cool fingers around the backs of my knees before pressing his forehead to my abdomen. “You are a true queen,” he murmured. Then he stiffened as he caught my scent, so near to his nose and mouth, and he groaned. “Feyre . . .” he sighed, tilting his face to press his lips to the skin beneath my navel. He sank lower, to press his lips to the small silken undergarment I wore. I let out a small gasp as he nipped at it with his teeth.

“Rhys,” I groaned, wanting him to continue badly but fearing the cost, fearing the pain that would follow when my body reacted to his touch.

 _I could take it from you_ , he said, his sensuous voice filling my mind. _I could take away all of the pain the moment you ask_. He hadn’t yet, because I think he knew why I was putting myself through this. But Cauldron boil me, in that moment, with his mouth and teeth and tongue so close to me, I wanted to give up my discipline immediately, let him take away the pain and replace it with pleasure instead.

His nose brushed along the band of my panties and he inhaled deeply, his hands rising to caress my backside. My hands reached out to tangle in his silken hair, but even that was enough to irritate the burns on my palms.

“Rhys,” I said more firmly this time. “We can’t.”

He let his forehead drop back onto my navel, indulging himself in a moment of petulance, before pulling away and rising to his feet. “All right,” he said stroking my bottom lip with his greased finger, “but no teasing. I know how wicked you can be, Feyre darling, so no teasing me with that mouth when I can’t even pleasure you the way you deserve.”

The ache of desire twisted in my stomach when I met his beautiful eyes, and in the next moment he tipped my chin up with his finger and stole a long, deep kiss from my mouth. He pulled away and I grinned. Yes--that I could do.

He chuckled in the back of his throat and finished smoothing the salve over my upper arms, neck, and palms. “We’ll get you all cleaned up,” he purred as he caressed my neck with two fingers, “and then I’ll be able to run my tongue over this delicious neck of yours whenever I please.”

I shivered. “Whenever _you_ please?” I challenged.

“Well, Feyre, I know you can’t resist me, so I assumed that when _I_ please and when _you_ please are approximately the same.”

“Arrogant bastard,” I muttered affectionately.

His hand rose to comb his fingers through my hair and he fixed with a gaze so intense and ravenous that it almost turned my bones to jelly. “I have plenty of ideas for when you’re all healed,” he murmured, his teeth flashing in a wild grin. He leaned his to trail light kisses along my jaw, tugging at my earlobe with his teeth. “Plenty of ideas involving walls, and wings, and _lots_ of paint.” His tongue flicked out against my jaw and I moaned.

He laughed again and pulled back. “That’s enough now. We don’t want to get you too excited.”

“Prick,” I said breathlessly.

“Oh, two insults in a night? Normally I would say this is my lucky night, but . . . it appears not.” He shrugged and then winked at me.

I summoned water and splashed him in the face. “You’re insufferable,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips.

He laughed and shook his head, spraying me with the water in return. “I know. But that’s why you love me,” he said, his roguish grin taking my breath away.

I pointed to his cot. “To your place, High Lord,” I ordered.

Delight fluttered in his eyes. “As you wish, High Lady.” He tucked his wings in tight and sat on the edge of the cot, watching me with his bedroom eyes as I tossed back the pain relief tonic and sank gingerly down onto my own cot. I’d barely turned to adjust myself on the cot when Rhys was suddenly beside me, lowering my head down onto the pillow, one hand bracing my shoulders so that I didn’t jostle my treated burns. Then he slipped to the other end of the cot and swung my legs up on the bed, arranging me nice and neat so I could sleep comfortably and without any pain.

“Are you fussing?” I accused, raising my eyebrows.

“What’s the good of being a High Lady if you can’t be pampered every once in awhile?” he said.

“If this is pampering, you have a lot of practicing to do,” I teased.

Rhys hummed in amusement, and then his face was over mine, kissing me between the eyebrows. “Sleep sweet, love,” he murmured. “I’ll protect you from the wild Illyrians.”

“Does that include yourself?”

He laughed openly and gave me one more adoring look before dimming the light in the room and sliding onto his own cot. And so I slipped into sleep, taking comfort in knowing that my mate was beside me, loving and protecting me . . . even if sometimes I still wasn’t sure I deserved it.

-

After breakfast the following morning, it seemed that all arrangements had been made. Cassian and Nesta looked exhausted--Cassian had been negotiating and delegating all night long, and stubborn Nesta had refused to return to the tent without him, even when Azriel had offered to escort her. She collapsed on her cot for an hour after breakfast before Azriel came in with a folded letter between his fingers.

“Your invitation to the Day Court,” he said to Rhys, handing the letter over.

“Already?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure what I had expected.

“I requested the invitation several days ago,” Rhys explained. “The moment we got back from Velaris. And with Tarquin’s endorsement, it wasn’t difficult to secure Lord Helion’s welcome.” He looked me up and down. He’d helped me dress again this morning, this time without any mischief, and I wore another Night Court gown similar to the one I’d worn the day before--this one in a shade of magenta that complimented my skin tone exquisitely--or so Rhys had said. “I have not been in contact with Lord Helion since Under the Mountain,” he said. “Helion may be expecting the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares.”

I nodded in understanding. “And the High Lady . . . of the Court of Nightmares.”

“Exactly,” Rhys said.

“Well, we’ll get to hone our excellent acting skills, at least,” I said with a grin.

“Who’s acting?” Nesta asked blearily, rising from her lightning-quick nap.

“Rhys and I,” I answered her. I swallowed, realizing that Nesta had never seen that side of Rhys before. I doubted it would scare her one bit, but . . . “There are two very different sides to the Night Court, Nesta. The new side, like what Rhys and Cassian represent, and the old side, which is a little more . . . vicious.”

“I’ve heard tales,” Nesta confirmed.

“Rhys and I won’t be quite acting like ourselves, with Lord Helion, at least not at first,” I said, looking to Rhys for confirmation. He nodded. “If we find we can trust him, then perhaps we’ll let the masks drop a bit. But to begin . . .”

“I understand,” Nesta said, her mouth in a straight line. “Do you think I can’t handle it?”

“To the contrary,” Rhys said, “I think you might play the part rather excellently yourself.”

“Rhys,” Cassian breathed.

“Not unlike the Autumn Court,” Rhys continued, “though you’ll be yourself. You look too much like Feyre to suggest that you’re some ingenue from my court.”

Nesta’s mouth twitched. “Are we going, then?”

Rhys chuckled. “We have our invitation.” He looked to Azriel. “You’re sure you have everything under control here.”

Azriel nodded and clasped arms first with Rhys, then with Cassian.

Rhys’s eyes glinted. “Then let’s head to the Day Court.”

He expended the energy to take us all in one trip this time, pausing after we landed to shift Nesta’s attire out of Illyrian fighting leathers and into Night Court attire like mine. I could see her cheekbones color at the immodesty of it--the outfits leaned closer to Hewn City tastes than Velaris tastes--but she said nothing. “You may want to hide the burns,” Rhys murmured privately to me. “It was good to show them with the Illyrians, but it sends a different message here.”

I nodded and adjusted my glamour accordingly.

We stood before a set of tall golden gates which gleamed in the late morning sun, more brilliant here than it had been even in the Summer Court. Beyond the gates I could see a city of sandstone and gold, but I could make out no details as the gates gleamed and opened before us. We were then approached by a group of tawny-skinned High Fae dressed in shades of gold and ivory. In the midst of them was a young woman--very young, I realized when she approached. She looked no more than seventeen, though I could hardly gaze what her true age was. Her skin was dark, like I remembered Helion Spell-Cleaver’s being, and her hair was wrapped up in a headscarf atop her head. Her ears were adorned with massive gold earrings, and colorful beads were draped across her throat and shoulders.

“Welcome to the Day Court, Lord Rhysand,” she said, her dark, gold-flecked eyes surveying him.

Rhys went stiff and I felt a ripple of disbelief shoot down our bond. “Aracely,” he breathed, nodding his head deeply. “It is an honor to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she said, dipping her head, though something about the exchange told me that there was a great deal between them that made these words . . . complicated.

I prodded the bond for an explanation, but Rhys simply said, _Later_.

Aracely turned to me. “Feyre Cursebreaker,” she said, a true smile spreading across her dark face. “We are honored by your presence here. We did not expect . . .” she trailed off, but I didn’t need her to finish her sentence to know what she meant. There was likely still confusion about my situation with the Spring Court, but one way or another, it was likely a surprise to see me on the High Lord of the Night Court. If no one here had seen Rhys since then, well . . . they wouldn’t know.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” I purred. I saw her eyes flit quickly to my tattoo, saw her nostrils flare at the scent of my bond with Rhysand, but she said nothing.

“My grandfather is eager for your arrival,” Aracely said. “He has put it to me to ensure you are comfortable, and he would love you to join him for dinner this evening.”

“Thank you, Aracely,” Rhys said. We followed her through the gates and down the avenue, our dark and foreign attire drawing the attention of the street merchants and shoppers and residents of the city. We came up to a walled garden, which was opened to us, and beyond that we saw avenues of orange trees, lemon trees, olive trees, lined up along canals and fountains amidst gilded arches and topiary. Groups of lesser fae worked the soil and vanished as we approached, and soon we were led into an open-air corridor connected to the larger framework of the palace.

“These are the guest suites,” Aracely said, gesturing to it with her bangled wrists. The open corridor surrounded a fish pond that bubbled with a fountain in the center. “Someone will come fetch you when dinner is prepared.”

We thanked her and began to make ourselves comfortable, first examining the rooms we had been provided. They had huge, open-air windows with colorful tapestries hung on every wall. Alcoves in the walls displayed vases and busts, and ferns were in almost every corner. The beds were low to the ground and covered in thick woven blankets with tassels. “This place looks like it belongs in the Summer Court,” I remarked.

Rhys nodded. “Lord Helion is distantly related to Lord Tarquin,” he explained. “I’m not sure how far back the connection goes, but after the War the two courts we closely tied, which explains some of the mutual design inspiration.”

I helped myself to the small bar in the room, choosing a sweet-smelling liquor from a glass decanter. “Tell me about Aracely,” I said. Rhys winced and lowered himself onto the bed. I took a drink over to him and sat beside him. “She looks young.”

Rhys took a swing of the drink. “She is. She’s only eighteen.”

“As in, _really_ eighteen?” I asked.

“Really eighteen,” Rhys confirmed.

“That means she was born--”

“Under the Mountain. Yes.” He let out a long breath and took another drink. “Her mother was Lord Helion’s daughter. When she and her husband found out they were pregnant . . . that was one of the reasons Helion decided to join Tarquin and Kallias in rebellion. Amarantha killed both of Aracely’s parents after she was born and then claimed the girl for her own handmaiden--inconvenient for the first few years, when she was shunted from nanny to nanny. Amarantha wasn’t particularly fond of children. But from the moment Aracely was old enough to work, she was in Amarantha’s chambers, doing all the dirty work from cleaning her shoes to emptying to chamber pot to . . . well, you get the idea. So that’s how she knows me.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling cold even though the temperature was pleasantly warm. When Aracely had met Rhys, he had been Amarantha’s whore--the cruel, heartless Lord of Nightmares whom everyone believed enjoyed his place at the monster’s side. “You didn’t help her,” I said in the gentlest tone possible. I wasn’t accusing him--I knew already what he had given up down there, the difficult choices he’d had to make.

“I couldn’t,” Rhys said. “Not without Amarantha suspecting. And--” He swallowed, genuine pain showing on his face. “And when Amarantha was displeased with Aracely, she would make the girl watch while we--while she--” He couldn’t finish, and he rested his forehead on the heel of his palm.

“You didn’t know she’d be here,” I said, understanding his reaction. He hadn’t known he would be facing someone who had seen him at his darkest and weakest--beneath Amarantha.

Rhys shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “I should have suspected, but--”

I took his hand in mine, gingerly cradling it despite my burns. “It’s over,” I said, stroking his hand with the back of my thumb. “You both went through hell down there--we all did--but we’re alive now, and hopefully we can all work together to prevent anyone like Amarantha from ever coming to power again.” With my other hand, I lifted his face to mine, my heart breaking at the agony behind his violet eyes--the scars and memories that would never entirely leave him, no matter how many centuries he lived. I pressed a small kiss to his lips. “We’re here together,” I reminded him. “And though everyone deserves to know what you sacrificed down there, if they don’t or refuse to see, we don’t need them anyway. You have me, and Cassian, and Azriel and the rest. We’ll always know the truth.”

Rhys smiled sadly. “I love you,” he murmured. He lifted his face to look back over to the bar. “Do they have anything stiffer over there?”

I laughed and rose from the bed. “I’ll see what I can wrangle up.”

“Feyre,” he murmured from where he sat on the bed as I jostled decanters and bottles and glass, searching for just the right concoction.

“Hmm?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“You are worth every moment of those fifty years,” he said. “And I would do it all again, just for you.”

My throat tightened just as my heart did at the sincerity of the promise, at the similarity of the words to what I had told him when I had accepted the bond between us.

But there was nothing to say, so I found him a stiff drink and downed it with him, letting the alcohol push away the dark memories and drawn in the light of the Day Court’s sun.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Brief, non-graphic discussion of Rhys's abuse in this chapter.

********CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE** ** ** **

Our group certainly stood out against the pale colors worn by the Day Court members. We were rather like an inversion--their dark skin and light clothes were contrasted by our pale complexions and dark attire. Rhys and I had also tailored out glamours together, as we had in the Summer Court, for our first appearance at dinner that night, going specifically for a more intimidating look than we had in the Summer Court. We both left the stars out of our auras of night, though Rhys had brought along the crowns of raven wings that we had worn to greet the mortal queens.

I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to ignore the fact that he had crowned me as an equal long before we had mated, let alone confronted our feelings for each other. Stubbornness was clearly one of my defining character traits.

The banquet hall of Lord Helion’s court was very different from any other that I’d seen. Instead of a long narrow table, there was a low circular table with a mosaic surface that shimmered in the torchlight of the room. There were cushions instead of chairs, which every sat upon by their knees. I felt Rhys’s twitch of annoyance and being on his knees before anyone but me, especially in a foreign court, but I assured him through the bond that everyone was doing it, so there was no hidden meaning to it here. Even Lord Helion, sitting at the far end of the table with Aracely at his side, was on his knees.

I hadn’t marked the High Lord of Day well when I had last seen him Under the Mountain. After all, I had only seen him through Rhysand’s eyes after my death, and learning his features had not been my primary concern. Still, the High Lord had a noble but gentle air about him. I could tell that he was old, as Rhys had said, but it was less that he looked old--more accurately, there was a wisdom in his amber eyes and in the angles of his dark face that said he had seen and known much of this world. Yet he did not seem cynical--not as many of the older faeries I had met were. He smiled warmly at us all as we entered, his hand laid over his granddaughter’s, who smiled through closed lips at us all.

“Welcome, High Lord Rhysand,” Helion said in a deep bass voice, rising from his seat with Aracely to spread his arms before him. “And . . . High Lady Feyre, if I understand things correctly.”

“You do,” I confirmed, unsurprised that he had read and analyzed my tattoo and glamour accurately.

“And your other companions?” Lord Helion asked.

“Allow me to introduce Commander Cassian of the Illyrians, and Nesta Archeron, sister to the High Lady,” Rhys said. Cassian flashed a cruel smile, but Nesta’s face kept the same level expression that she had used at all social gatherings back home.

“Thank you for having us.” Despite the mildness of my words, I kept a cruel angle to my mouth, the callous arrogance to my posture--the perfect match to Rhysand.

“Lord Rhysand’s request and Lord Tarquin’s recommendation were plenty reason to open my gates to you, though I confess it has been a long time since a Lord--or Lady--of Night has set foot in the Day Court. Please, take a seat and we shall dine, and then go over matters of more importance later.”

Rhys and I nodded languidly, his arm wrapped proprietarily around my waist as he guided me to the cushions indicated by Lord Helion, to the right of Aracely. I anticipated the dilemma a moment before it happened and chose the cushion in between Rhys and Aracely--whatever I could do to buffer him from the reminders of what had happened to him, I would do.

The meal began and conversation rose in the air among all those gathered, as wine flowed freely and course after course was brought. Rhys said nothing, only observing his surroundings. I laid my tattooed hand over his, and I felt his tension release a fraction.

“I had hoped I would one day get a chance to thank you for all you did Under the Mountain,” Aracely said to me.

“It was my honor to serve Prythian,” I said coolly, hoping to indicate that I had no desire to speak on the subject.

Aracely did not take the hint--or if she did, she chose to ignore it. “I am young and not as wise as my grandfather, but . . . I had thought you were to wed the High Lord of the Spring Court.” Her dark eyes fell to the star sapphire on my finger. Rhys’s hand twitched in mine.

My lips curled. “Your _thoughts_ are not mistaken,” I said. “But, as Lord Tamlin has committed treason against Prythian, a union between us was no longer . . . amenable.”

“I see,” Aracely murmured, setting her jaw and lifting her dark eyebrow as she turned back to her food. “I imagine that is something to be discussed after the festivities.”

“Indeed,” I said. I continued eating, unafraid to use my magic to assist in getting my food to my mouth--a carefree use of power was part of the role I was playing tonight. Aracely and I continued to silently observe each other, each pretending not to be. I had never met a High Fae woman as young as she was--she was younger than me by a couple of years, and yet she seemed far older. I didn’t think I would ever quite understand fae aging. Of course, in Aracely’s case, her maturity, like mine, had most certainly been driven by hardship.

After the meal ended, the table vanished and dancing began. It was a kind of dancing that I had never observed before, though it did not seem difficult to learn. If I was in any position to be comfortable dancing, I might have joined in. Instead, I stood beside Rhys, who engaged in small talk with other nobles of the court, occasionally joining in myself. Mostly, however, I watched and listened.

Aracely was the rival of all. Young men and women alike all asked her to dance, and she accepted all of them, dancing with skill, grace, and passion through every movement. Her large earrings glinted in the torchlight, her beads clashing together around her throat in time to the rhythm. Lord Helion watched her, adoration on his face.

A glint of light caught the corner of my eye and I saw Nesta’s Siphon glowing dimly around her throat. She seemed calm as ever, but I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was uncomfortable. She had never been a dancer, so it did not surprise me that she turned down at least half a dozen requests for her arm. Still, there was something else . . .

Cassian noticed it, too, and he casually meandered over to her from where he’d been drinking with some high-ranking commanders of Helion’s. A smirk twisted his lips, but I saw the flash of concern in his eyes. He discreetly raised his hand to Nesta’s elbow. She stiffened once, and then relaxed--her posture more at ease than it had been moments before. The men who had continued lingering nearby Nesta eyed Cassian and then drifted away to look for partners elsewhere. Cassian then leaned in and murmured something in her ear that I strained to hear but could not make out. Nesta pursed her lips once but then nodded, allowing Cassian to guide her by the elbow into the courtyard just outside.

When I turned my attention back to the party, curiosity nagging at me, I saw that Lord Helion had made his way to Rhysand and me, a warm smile on his lips. “Lady Feyre,” he said to me with a nod. “Before the evening turned too political, I wanted to express my sincere gratitude for you for all you did Under the Mountain.”

“Your granddaughter expressed those sentiments as well,” I said smoothly. “As I said to her, it was an honor.” I debated for a moment bringing up Helion’s own gift to me, but it did not seem wise to mention my own debt to him, nor raise any suspicions about the Day Court power that lingered beneath my skin.

“Aracely is my pride and joy,” Helion said, gazing after her. “I had feared that she would never see the light of the Day Court sun, but thanks to you . . .” He swallowed and nodded once, and I had to work very hard not to let my mask drop and reveal just how touched I was by his love for his granddaughter.

The festivities continued late, but after a certain time Lord Helion summoned all his most important officials away to accompany us to a quieter wing of the palace. We all settled around a table similar to the one that we had dined at, though smaller and without a mosaic.

“Tarquin suggested that time was of the essence regarding your visit,” Helion said when we were all in place.

“Indeed,” Rhysand said. “We have six weeks before the King of Hybern mounts his attack against the mortal realm and all of Prythian. I am sure you are aware that he has already taken the Spring Court?”

“Yes, though the circumstances are certainly confounding,” Helion said, lacing his fingers in front of him.

“Allow me to explain,” I said, “as Aracely has already broached the question. When we were all Under the Mountain, it was well-known that I was there fighting for Tamlin of the Spring Court. In order to survive, I made a bargain with Lord Rhysand, which Tamlin became intent upon breaking after we had returned to Spring Court . . . regardless of my wishes, I might add.” I paused, letting that sink in, before continuing, “I later learned that he began working with the King of Hybern in an effort to free me from the bargain I had willingly made, and in an attempt to keep me safe, he locked me in the manor against my will.”

A murmur and shudder ran through the assembled nobles. “He locked you up?” Aracely murmured. “After all you went through?”

I nodded, remaining cool despite the warmth in my heart at the sign that someone besides Rhysand understood the implications of that. “Lord Rhysand helped me escape and informed me of the King of Hybern’s plots, requesting my assistance. I agreed--of my own free will--and in turn informed Tamlin that I would not be returning to the Spring Court. A particular set of circumstances reinforced my decision.”

“You’re mates,” Lord Helion said with a nod. The statement came with no judgement, only perhaps a bit of awe.

“Yes. We learned that the King of Hybern had acquired the Cauldron and the necessary pieces to unlock its power. We attempted to nullify its power, only to be intercepted by the King of Hybern and Jurian.”

“Jurian?” Lord Helion murmured, eyes wide.

I nodded. “We were also confronted by Lord Tamlin, who had ignored my wishes and very clear statements that I would not be returning to him, and requested that the King of Hybern break the mating bond between Lord Rhysand and myself so that he could take me back to the Spring Court with him.”

A spark of anger finally lit in Helion, who sat up straight. “He asked to break your _mating bond_?” he demanded. “That’s abominable.”

“It didn’t work, clearly,” I said, a grim smile on my lips, “but I allowed him to believe it had and went back to the Spring Court with him, long enough to learn that Hybern wanted to steal the magic of Calanmai in order to power the Cauldron and tear down the Wall.”

“Something happened on Calanmai,” Helion mused. “We all felt it.”

“Lady Feyre released the magic,” Rhys said. “She learned that the Spring Court has been taking an unfair portion for centuries, and dealt with the white stag so that magic might be returned to the court in equal measure.”

More murmurs. “It seems we owe you even more thanks,” Lord Helion said.

“All this to say,” I continued, “Lord Tamlin has committed treason against Prythian and has surrendered his court to the King of Hybern. Tamlin himself is currently being held by Lord Tarquin to prevent any further damage, but Hybern is already preparing his armies and is allied with the Autumn and Dawn Courts to move against Prythian and the mortal realm.”

“We are here to request your assistance and alliance in the coming fight,” Rhysand said. “We hoped that you former alliance with Summer and Winter against Amarantha might compel you to take up arms against the King of Hybern as well. Tarquin and I have already begun consolidating our troops, and we plan to move against Autumn in a matter of days.” Rhysand’s violet eyes scanned the assembled nobles. “We all suffered at the hands of Amarantha, and Feyre did not sacrifice her life for the land to fall into the hands of someone worse.”

“Did you suffer, though, Rhysand?” barked a nameless nobleman. “You seemed to be quite at ease Under the Mountain--one of Amarantha’s favorites, if I recall correctly.”

I couldn’t capture the snarl before it ripped from my mouth. “You have no right to speak to my mate like that,” I spat. “You have no _clue_ \--”

“Feyre,” Rhys murmured.

“Lord Rhysand suffered just like the rest of us,” Aracely declared, fixing her dark eyes on Rhysand. He swallowed and stiffened--I wondered if the young princess was aware of the power she had over him, if she chose to wield it. “Being chosen as a favorite by Amarantha was no gift, and no salvation.”

Oppressive silence fell over the room as everyone realized that Aracely spoke from personal experience. Helion’s face was crinkled in sorrow.

“Thank you for bringing all of this to our attention,” the High Lord said, his voice finally betraying some of his age. “I was aware of portions of the story, but I feel better equipped to assess my own role. I shall need time to consider, but you are all welcome as guests here in the meantime.” His weary eyes scanned over the assembly. “I think we ought to adjourn for the night.”

A ripple of relief churned through the air, and we all walked in silence back to our suite.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: There is discussion of Rhys’s sexual abuse in this chapter--nothing is shown, only heard, but it may still be upsetting to some. Proceed with caution.)

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

It was a bad night for Rhys.

He tossed for a while in bed beside me, and other than brushing his shoulder with the back of my hand to assure him that I was there, I made no comment. Seeing Aracely--it had affected him deeper than I’d realized. I knew this was a part of his horror that he hasn’t yet shared with me, and I wouldn’t ask him to--not until he was ready.

Eventually he stilled and we both fell asleep, but night was not to be a comfort to either of us tonight. I was dragged into dreams of fire and suffocation, reenactments of my fight with Nesta that my mind had been too exhausted to conjure the past few nights. But even that dream was not enough to hold me under . . .

Not when I heard my mate crying beside me.

The sound broke my heart and shook me from slumber all at once. “Rhys,” I said, reaching across the bed for him--only to feel his arm stiff and solid as stone, his talons clutching the mattress, slowly digging deep rifts in the woven material.

When my fingers brushed his skin he cringed away, unaware that it was me trying to rouse him. I groaned as I rose onto my knees beside him, reaching out for his face, with was crumpled in pain. I paused with my hand outstretched and reached out for his mind instead. I encountered thick, impenetrable walls of adamant. Keeping me out. There was not even a crack for me to slide through. Even in the depths of this nightmare he was still trying to protect me from his private horrors. But I kept seeking entrance, if only to grab him and pull him out the prison made of his own memories.

“Please,” he gasped, and I knew he wasn’t speaking to me.

Then, leaking through his shields, I heard a voice that I now only encountered in my own nightmares. “Good, High Lord,” Amarantha crooned. “You know I love it when you beg.”

“Please,” Rhys choked out again.

There was a crack of a whip. Then a scream--not Rhysand’s.

A girl’s. Aracely’s.

“Silence!” Amarantha ordered. I could still see nothing, only listen. “The more you cry, the more he bleeds.” The crying faded to choking whimpers and sniffles. “This is your fault, you know. You disappointed me today--you should know by now that I prefer my silk linens to satin.” Such a punishment--for such a minor offence? Amarantha’s voice spoke again. “Tell her it’s her fault, Rhysand.”

Silence.

Another crack of the whip, and Rhys’s body tensed below me. He croaked out, “It’s your fault.”

“Who’s fault?” A crack.

“It’s your fault, Aracely.”

A vicious laugh from the queen. “Now kiss me where I like it, Rhysand. Or else little Aracely gets a few lashes for her own.”

Rhys groaned. Then I heard Amarantha gasp--with pleasure.

“Rhys!” I screamed out loud and down the bond. I wouldn’t let him relive that, wouldn’t let him go down into that dark place again. So I seized the bond between us with all the strength I could muster and _pulled_ \--for him, for me, for all the work we had done to escape and leave that hell behind us.

“Rhys, come on!” I cried, tugging the bond again. “Don’t go back--don’t go back!”

I gave one final pull and Rhys’s eyes snapped open. As he sat up, a wave of panic and magic burst from him, sending me flying through the air. I had enough wherewithal to winnow and keep from hitting the wall, but the darkness Rhys had sent out kept me from aiming properly. I landed near the bar and stumbled, knocking into it with my injured thigh and sending some of the bottles toppling off to shatter on the ground.

The noise roused my mate from his terror and his panicked violets eyes found me crumpled against the bar, using it for support as I minded my leg, which flared with pain. In the next moment he appeared on his knees before me, wings spread behind him, holding me by the waist and pressing his head to my stomach.

“Feyre! Feyre, are you all right?” he cried. “I’m so sorry . . . so sorry!”

“I’m all right,” I gasped, though my cheeks were streaked with tears of pain. I wove my fingers through his ebony hair and held him to me as he sobbed, stroking the back of his head with soothing motions. “It’s all over,” I murmured. “She’s dead. She can’t hurt you, or me, or Aracely anymore.”

“I didn’t want you to see that,” he moaned. “Never wanted you to know--”

“I didn’t see,” I told him. “I heard, but . . . your shields kept me from the rest.” I could picture it well enough, but I didn’t tell him that.

A broken cry of relief escaped his lips and I slid down to kneel before him. I took his face in my hands, ignoring the sting of pain in my palms. “Look at me, Rhysand.” He kept his head down, breathing heavily. “ _Look at me_.” He reluctantly drew his eyes up to meet mine, and I fixed him with a stare, looking deep into their violet depths. “There is nothing-- _nothing_ you went through down there that will frighten me away or make me love you any less. The only person to blame for any of that is Amarantha, and I hope she burns in a thousand hells for what she did to you and everyone else. But you survived-- _we_ survived! We’re free. And I love you, Rhysand. Scars and nightmares and all.” I kissed him, firm and insistent. He gasped against my lips, shuddering, and then kissed me back. As our lips moved together, I deepened the kiss, carressing his tongue with mine and giving him something to anchor himself to--to bring him back to reality after the cruelty of his nightmare.

He pulled away and looked at me with silver-lined eyes. “You swear I didn’t hurt you?” he murmured.

“You didn’t hurt me,” I said. “I just mucked up my landing. That wasn’t your fault.” _Not your fault_ \--I murmured the sentiment, if not the words themselves, down the bond, reinforcing it and clearing the vile associations from his mind.

“I’ll get the salve,” he said, rising to his feet and helping me.

“Let’s get some fresh air while we’re at it,” I said. “The stars are out tonight.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Rhys’s face while he picked up the tin of salve from where we’d left it beside the bed earlier. I watched him, taking the moment’s reprieve to admire the beautiful muscles of his back, the wings that spread out behind him. When he turned back to me my eyes traced the tattoos on the planes of his chest. He came closer, and I took him by the hand and led him out to the fish pond, which had a tiny gazebo built into the middle of it. There was no ceiling to the gazebo, so when we looked up we could see the night sky, dotted with specks of light and glowing with celestial mysteries. We straddled a stone bench across from each other and Rhys lifted my leg up on the seat between us so he could reapply the ointment to the burn I had jostled. He then applied some to my palms, hissing when he saw that one of my blisters there had opened. He summoned a bandage from thin air and treated it, neither of us speaking.

When I was cared for, he scooped my leg over the bench I was sitting on it properly beside him, and then wrapped his arm around my waist, his hand lingering around my breast as he tucked me into his side. We looked up at the night sky together, taking comfort in its vastness, its calmness, and its steadiness.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like that for a very long time,” Rhys said at last. “Not since before . . . before you came to the Night Court. Most of them are the two I’ve mentioned--with Azriel or Cassian in my place, or with you dying at her hand. But most of the specific dreams like that I have been able to lock down or avoid, especially after you came, because . . . well, knowing you were there and alive gave me enough strength to lock them up in the past and keep them from haunting me. But . . . with seeing Aracely again . . .”

“When I was in the Spring Court, I had nightmares about the Bogge again,” I said. “I hadn’t had one of those dreams since before Amarantha. Our surroundings can influence our dreams, whether we like it or not.”

“Those . . . scenarios,” Rhys said carefully, “weren’t common. They only worked on both of us for a while. Aracely stopped reacting to Amarantha’s threats against me, and I stopped reacting to her threats against Aracely. We abandoned each other.”

“That’s not what sounds like to me,” I argued. “It sounds like you both learned how to survive her.”

Rhys’s mouth was a grim line. “It only encouraged Amarantha to become more creative. As Aracely got older . . .” He swallowed and looked up at the sky again, taking a deep breath. “She was never Amarantha’s toy, not like I was. But Amarantha never kept her other beasts from touching Aracely however they pleased. And I couldn’t protect her. That poor child. She was-- _is_ \--just a child.

“I think that’s another reason why I took such revenge on those picts after Calanmai,” he continued. “Not only because they threatened you, which was reason enough, but because I could do something to protect you the way I couldn’t for Aracely. I did it for her, too.” He lifted the back of my hand to his lips. “Your beautiful hands,” he murmured. His expression darkened, honed into black rage. “I thought I would kill Nesta just for hurting your _hands_ , Feyre, let alone the rest of you.”

“Nesta didn’t hurt my hands,” I said. “The Cauldron did. I would have healed from Nesta’s fire already, Rhys. I picked a fight without the Cauldron without realizing it. That’s why I’m in this situation.”

Rhys nodded mutely. “I’ll fix it,” he swore. “I’ll fix you, and Cassian, and Nesta . . . everyone who’s been hurt because I haven’t been able to stop it.”

“Stop,” I said, and he looked at me. “You might be the most powerful High Lord in history, but that still does not mean you can stop everything. The world has been dead-set against us for a long time now, so we all need to stop blaming ourselves for it and just work with what we’re given.”

“Says the woman who suffers through cursed burns because she feels like she deserves them,” he growled. I straightened, surprised at the direction of his ire. He saw my expression and his face crumpled. “Please,” he gasped, lowering his head to rest on my shoulder. “Just let me take the pain away for you.”

I understood what I hadn’t before--that this wasn’t about him wanting to make love to me or having to deal with the inconvenience of handling my pain. I knew Rhys, and if I told him that I didn’t want to have sex for a century he would find a way to deal with it, if it was what I wanted. And he had been so good to me when I had practically starved myself to death all those months ago that I knew accommodating my pain wasn’t the problem either.

No. This had everything to do with the fact that there had been pain upon pain upon pain that he had been unable to stop, unable to eliminate, for fifty years. His own pain, Aracely’s, that of countless others Under the Mountain. Not to mention those he had been forced to kill or torture for Amarantha. Clare had been the only one he’d dared to ease, and that had been when he’d resigned himself to the curse never breaking, and perhaps he’d no longer cared if he pissed Amarantha off enough to kill him. He hadn’t been able to spare me over those three months Under the Mountain, hadn’t been able to spare me from the agony she’d done me as she’d slowly shattered each one of my bones and then snapped my neck.

He’d saved me in the end. But there had been a lot of pain that he had been unable to prevent. And my stubbornness now--my bizarre desire to suffer through this unnecessary pain to satisfy my _own_ guilt . . . I hadn’t realized how selfish it was.

I turned my body and draped my other arm over his shoulder, leaning in so that my forehead touched his. “Yes,” I said. “You can take it. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry I didn’t understand.” And I opened that sliver in my shields a little wider for him, and tears slipped down his cheeks as he slowly drew the stinging, the burning, the aching, out of my body and my mind, leaving me with only enough of it to remind me to be careful and not injure myself further. And while he was there he took the tension in my muscles that had become so familiar I hadn’t realized it was there. Then he drew out of my mind and kissed my forehead before returning his brow to mine. I kept my eyes open and saw the tears clinging to his long eyelashes like tiny diamonds.

I had gotten so used to the pain that I had forgotten what a relief it was to be free of it. And I let out a long, quiet sigh, my breath brushing Rhys’s cheeks. “Thank you,” I murmured.

Rhys’s fingers tightened around my back where they held me against him. “You are the most precious thing in the world to me,” he said, his voice low and husky, “and while I never want you to feel fragile or like I’m . . . coddling you, I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to make sure you are safe and well and happy. All three of those things at once.” He pressed a tiny kiss to the dimple near the corner of my mouth.

“The same goes for you,” I said, tracing the shell of his ear with my now pain-free fingers. “Like I said before--you can’t scare me away. We’re bonded, and not even the darkest horrors of Amarantha or Hybern can change that. I am with you and beside you always. I will share your burdens just like you’ve always shared mine.”

Rhys pulled away to look at me better and let out a breathy laugh. “Are we making our wedding vows, Feyre darling?”

I grinned. It did sound like that, actually. “It’ll be good practice,” I murmured, “for when we have the biggest wedding Prythian’s ever seen after this is all over.”

“You really want a big wedding?” Rhys asked, lifting his eyebrow.

“I think we’ll deserve a little spectacle after all is said and done.”

He kissed my cheek. “As the High Lady commands.” He ran his fingers through my hair and we looked up at the sky again together, feeling the night calling to us both deep in our souls.

Rhys sombered one more time. “I’m not sure I can face Aracely,” he admitted. “I am used to people despising me, but with her, it’s different. Because she knows the truth, knows what Amarantha did to me. And to have her hatred . . .”

“She doesn’t hate you,” I said.

“How do you know?” he asked with a slight frown.

“She wouldn’t have defended you last night if she hated you. And I think you could understand her better than anyone else in this court does, including her grandfather, and she knows that. So maybe don’t expect anything from her one way or another. But I think you both owe each other a conversation, at the very least.”

Rhys grunted. “Not the easiest conversation to have,” he said, eyes fixed on the stars.

“Obviously.” I nudged him with my elbow. “But it might be worth it.”

Rhys sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now, why don’t you say we both go and attempt to get some sleep before dawn? I have a feeling we’ll need our energy.” Rhys tore his eyes away from the heavens and looked at me, only to have me reach out my thumb and swipe it across his forehead, banishing the nightmares as he had done for me when we’d only been connected through our minds across courts. “No more nightmares,” I whispered.

He laughed and repeated the gesture over my forehead. “Not one,” he murmured back. Then in a flash he lifted me from the bench and kissed me deeply as he carried me back to bed.


	33. Chapter 33

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

As much as we all had the solstice deadline looming over us, we still had to play by the rules of courtly engagement, and so we spent the following morning touring Helion’s palace and grounds among his other courtiers. Rhys and I kept our High Lord and Lady personas in place, which succeeded in keeping anyone from making the mistake of bringing up Amarantha again. Instead, we just received sideways glances and occasional shudders, which entertained us both to no end. **  
**

Nesta and Cassian drew their fair share of attention. My sister had adopted the dress of the Day Court--a an ivory wrap dress with no straps or sleeves, hemmed with gold. Her hair was gathered in a head scarf similar to Aracely’s but simpler and wrapped differently, allowing wisps of her hair to peek out at the edges. Her Siphon was on prominent display over her throat, glinting in the bright sun.

Cassian strode in silence beside her, the warrior and guardian in him taking stock of every area we walked through, every person we encountered, preparing for any imminent threat. His Illyrian complexion was not out of place here--he was still pale compared to most of the Day Court fae, but he was darker than the rest of us. Still, no one could mistake him for anything other than pure Illyrian fighting machine--a storm bound to skin. His hazel eyes glared at each person with a challenge written in them, and everyone gave him and Nesta just as wide a berth as they gave Rhys and me.

At long last, the other courtiers adjourned for lunch, and Helion invited us to dine with him and Aracely in private. We entered his private wing of the palace, which was just as colorful and lush as the other wings, if not more so, but the dining room itself was much smaller and, if I dared to admit it, cozy.

Helion waited until we’d all been served our food and the servants had departed before he addressed the question that had likely been gnawing at him all day. “At the risk of sounding indelicate,” he began, chewing on some fresh bread, “I have sensed an inordinate amount of magic here since you arrived. That is not to dismiss the considerable power I know the High Lord and High Lady have, but this . . . it is considerable.”

“That’s correct,” Rhys said, dipping his bread in his soup and taking a bite himself. “What you’re sensing is not the magic of the Night Court, but of the Cauldron itself.”

“How is that possible?” Helion asked with a frown. “The Cauldron . . . I thought you said Hybern had it.”

“He did,” I confirmed, “but through a set of circumstances that we do not quite understand--and in fact we were hoping you could help illuminate--the Cauldron has attached itself to my sister here . . . and we have yet to figure out how to separate them.”

Helion reclined on his cushions, his face closed off and thoughtful. “You were wise not to mention any of this in front of my court.”

“We must tread carefully in times of war,” Rhysand said. “One of Hybern’s pets once told me that they have ears in every court. It is a dangerous game discerning who to trust.”

“Then I thank you for trusting me. May I ask: is it my character, or perhaps necessity that leads you to do so?”

Rhys laughed darkly. “Both. I’ve always liked you, Helion, and I suspect the personal effects of Amarantha’s reign are keenly felt in the Day Court, as in the Night.” His eyes flicked to Aracely, who bravely met his gaze in return. “I think this gives you enough reason of your own to ensure that Hybern is never able to set roots here.

“More than that, we’ve learned some things about Hybern’s plan that involve artifacts that only the Day Court has record of,” Rhys continued. “We were hoping that we might be able to peruse your libraries and request your help in separating Nesta from the Cauldron.”

“Well, the libraries have always been open to the High Lords,” Helion said with a slight wave of his hand. “The enchantments on them act as their own security, so any . . . delicate information remains safe regardless of who is looking. The only trouble in that lies in our recovery from Amarantha. Using Hybern’s spellbook, which is not of Prythian, she was able to break many enchantments and steal a great deal of knowledge, which we are still trying to restore. I . . . I hate to think of what has been lost forever.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, and I meant it.

“Regardless, it is no special favor to give you access to the libraries,” Helion continued. He frowned slightly. “The matter of the Cauldron, on the other hand . . . what makes you believe that I could be of any help?”

I felt Nesta stiffen beside me, but she said nothing.

“Our Second in Command believed that your speciality in intricate spellwork might allow you to unweave the knots binding my sister to the Cauldron,” I said.

Helion was quiet for a moment. “It might be possible, but . . . I have no idea how long something like that would take. Lady Nesta and I would have to get to know each other quite well in order for me to examine her and identify what binds her to the Cauldron.”

“How well?” Cassian asked gruffly, fixing Helion with a hard look.

Lord Helion’s eyes widened and his lips pulled back from his teeth, revealing for the first time the wild and powerful High Lord disguised beneath the calm and grandfatherly exterior. “I would be careful what you imply, Commander.”

Nesta made a disgusted noise. “Males,” she sighed, and Lord Helion looked at her with surprise. “I will do whatever needs done. I want this damned Cauldron _off_ of me.” She fixed her eyes on Cassian. “Don’t be such an animal. I can handle myself.”

Cassian’s upper lip twitched, but he looked away from her and shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

“Unlike the libraries, this would be a great strain on my resources and time,” Helion said, looking back to Rhysand and me. “What would be the benefit to my court in doing so?”

Rhys and I met each other’s eyes and he laid a hand on my thigh, squeezing it. I would have to explain the bargain. “The reason we have the luxury of six weeks before Hybern attacks is that I was able to wring a bargain from him. He wants the Cauldron, the Book of Breathings, my two sisters, and myself. His end goal, we suspect, is to use us to get him to the Stone of Danann. I bought time by telling him that he could not use the Cauldron while my sister was bound to it--whether this is true or not, we know that it ought to be separated from Nesta and its power nullified. We hope to accomplish this by Summer Solstice, otherwise Hybern will take us all along with the artifacts and use us to find to the Stone of Danann. At that point it’s very likely that he will declare himself High King, destroy all the courts, and enslave the humans once again. Without your help . . . we’re not sure how we’ll be able to stop it.”

“In short,” Rhys said, leaning forward but not removing his hand from my leg, “the benefit to your court is _its very existence_.”

“Papa,” Aracely murmured, looking horrified. And for the first time I saw the young girl, not the faerie princess, in her eyes.

Lord Helion looked vaguely ill, but when he met his granddaughter’s eyes, his jaw set in determination. “I have worked very hard to make the Day Court the home my daughter’s child has never known. I will not let that slip away now. I will do what I can.”

I let out a long breath. “Thank you,” I murmured.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Helion said. He looked out the window and said, “If our time is as limited as you say, then I suggest no further delay. If Lady Nesta is willing, I can begin examining her immediately. It is best for me to work while the sun is highest.” His eyes fell to Cassian, and he said with no trace of amusement, “The Commander is welcome to join us as well, if he promises not to interfere.”

“No need,” Nesta said coolly, rising to her feet as Lord Helion did. “He can mind his own business.” Cassian’s growl was so deep that it was difficult to hear.

“Aracely,” Helion said, “If you would escort the High Lord and High Lady to the library, we can handle two problems at once.”

“Which library?” Aracely asked.

“Wherever your histories are kept,” Rhys said. “We need to learn about Dagda, his son, the creation of the courts, the Stone . . . there’s been too much guesswork involved and I’d like some solid facts to work with.”

Lord Helion chuckled. “If you’re looking for solid facts, Lord Rhysand, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Stories change over time, you know. Sadly, that information was kept in one of the wings that Amarantha ransacked, but there may still be some knowledge that’s helpful to you. Take them to the Hall of Heritage, Aracely.”

“Yes, Papa,” the princess said, bowing her head.

As she led us out of the dining room, I passed Nesta and squeezed her hand once in mine. She cringed away from the tough skin that no longer caused me pain, thanks to Rhys, but she glanced at me gratefully before following Lord Helion to his private study. Cassian stared after her, fire in his eyes, before sulking along behind us to the renowned libraries of the Day Court.

-

The Hall of Heritage was located in the very center of the city, which was about an hour’s ride by horse from Helion’s palace--though we winnowed the distance in a matter of moments. The city, Ochieng, was low to the ground, no towering buildings like Adriata--with one exception. At the heart of the city, above the library, there was a tall golden tower, reflecting the light like a second sun. There were arches and carvings along its surface, and the top appeared open to the air. “What is that?” I asked.

“The Sun Temple,” Aracely replied, smiling slightly. “It’s where we go to commune with the Mother. There are different levels within depending on one’s needs, but those with the most pressing heartaches go to the very top to be cleansed by the Sundrops.”

“Sundrops?” I asked, thinking both of the pool of starlight in the Spring Court and the spirits that passed by Velaris on Skyfall.

Aracely nodded, her earrings clinking against her necklace. “I don’t know exactly what they are yet . . . there are still many things I need to learn about my own court. But my grandfather took me there when we returned from Under the Mountain . . . and what I experienced then is difficult to put into words. A cleansing . . . unlike anything I ever thought possible.”

There was a pregnant silence and I wondered if Rhys would take the opportunity to broach the subject that had plagued him so deeply the night before, but he remained silent. I wondered if Cassian’s presence held him back--if Rhys hadn’t even told me about Aracely’s role Under the Mountain, I doubted he had told Cassian, either.

“I’d like to fly from there,” Cassian mentioned, his mouth a wry grin.

Aracely raised her eyebrows. “Good luck getting to the top, Commander. Only those that have performed some service to the Day Court are welcome at the top. You might reach other levels, which are not so restricted, but the gift of the Sundrops is not given out lightly.”

“I thought healing magic was the Day Court’s specialty,” I remarked.

Aracely gave a small smile. “It isn’t healing, per se. It doesn’t eliminate harm or injury . . . it just cleanses it. Removes the pain, the worst of the effects. I will never forget my life before coming to the Day Court--before _you_ freed us, Lady Feyre--but I am free from the shackles that bound me to those memories day and night.”

Rhys went stiff beside me, and I looped my arm through his. “You mean,” I murmured, “you don’t have nightmares?”

Aracely blinked once and then turned to lead us into the Hall of Heritage. “That is a rather personal question, High Lady.”

I knew right then that I liked this girl. “Forgive me,” I said.

Aracely shrugged nonchalantly. She led us through a series of arches up to an enormous set of doors that swung open to reveal the inside of the Hall of Heritage.

I had expected to be impressed by the Day Court’s libraries, but this . . . this was something altogether unexpected.

The ceiling of the hall towered above us, displaying balcony upon balcony, level upon level of books--aisles and stacks of books or every color, every age. But it was not just the abundance of books that took my breath away--it was the beauty of the structure itself. The banisters that separated the balconies from the open hall before us were intricately carved marble, displaying images that I could not discern from such a distance. The ceiling far above us, however--that was what caused me to pause my steps and gape, open-mouthed.

I had thought that the painting on Tarquin’s ceiling in his manor had been fine, but this . . . it was as though the very world were painted upon the ceiling. It was a scene of the sky, like Tarquin’s, but it glowed with a pure white at the center before radiating out in every color--all the different colors the sky could possibly be. It reminded me--it reminded me of sunset in Velaris. A stylized sun sat amidst the white, and stars glittered at the edge of the painting. I blinked, and I realized that the painting was alive--the colors shifted and changed and dancing as though the sun in the center were actually casting its light upon the sky.

 _I think I could just sit in the middle of the floor and stare at it all day_ , I said to Rhys through our minds, too embarrassed to express my awe out loud.

 _I’ll request a table with a good view_ , Rhys replied with amusement.

Indeed, tables with candles were spread out before us, piled high with books and scrolls and pens and various other scholarly materials. A few fae--both High and lesser--worked diligently throughout the library, which seemed to live and breathe itself. Books floated through the air to those who desired them, and every so often books lifted themselves off of tables to return to the shelves where they belonged.

“This is just one of your libraries?” I asked breathlessly.

Aracely grinned. “Thousands of years of knowledge cannot be contained to one house. My grandfather has a thousand libraries, most of them like this, spread throughout the Day Court. Each has a particular focus--this one specializes in histories concerning the origin of the fae, cultural histories, and the like. It is closely tied to the Hall of Tongues in Ohon, which has recorded the languages of all species of fae since written record began.”

“All species of fae?” Cassian asked. He said something to Rhysand in words that I had never heard before--harsh-sounding words, each one like a honed sword, though I could tell the sentence was innocent enough.

Rhys gave him an impatient look. “Yes, I’m sure they have Illyrian as well,” he sighed.

“That was Illyrian?” I asked. Cassian grinned.

 _It’s a harsh language_ , Rhys said to me. _Cassian, Azriel, and I use it to keep Mor and Amren from understanding us if we want them to stay out of our business. I don’t care for the sound of it, myself. It’s very coarse._

I stroked the bond between us and, at the same time, drew a line on the skin of the inside of his wrist with my finger. _I think it’s . . . erotic_.

I felt the delight through our bond, but Rhys only said, _Don’t ever let Cassian hear you say that._

I bit my lip and sent Rhys an inviting look, which thankfully neither Cassian nor Aracely saw. His eyes slid from me to them, and then he leaned in to tug my earlobe with his teeth. Then he murmured a long string of Illyrian into my ears--his hand fluttered across my hip bones and offered me a rough translation. Warmth flooded my blood and I spread my fingers across his muscled torso, trying to maintain some sense of composure.

“What other libraries are there?” I asked, pulling away from Rhysand just enough to keep him from seducing me on the spot, but not enough to break contact between us.

“The Hall of Peoples,” Aracely replied, “for ethnographies. The Hall of Music, and the Hall of Spoken Spells. The Hall of Wards, and the Hall of Artifacts . . . those are just the largest. Almost every city has a large central library--one of the halls--and then multiple satellite libraries that contain more specialized portions of knowledge. I haven’t even visited them all yet.”

“Is your grandfather sure the knowledge we’re looking for is here?” Rhys asked. “It seems there are a great number of places to look.”

“Indeed,” Aracely said. “My grandfather knows these archives better than anyone in the Day Court or outside of it. The archives live and breathe, as I’m sure you can tell, so even he cannot know exactly what each library contains at any given time--but his guidance is sound, so if he says this is the best place to start, he’s likely right.”

“Of course,” Rhys said as we walked further in the halls.

Aracely turned and faced us all with a smile on her face, arms spread wide. “Well then . . . shall we begin?”


	34. Chapter 34

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

I wasn’t sure what I had expected from the Hall of Heritage. Perhaps some foolish part of me had thought that the books containing the information we needed would just float over to us and eliminate half of our job. But alas, as Aracely explained, the library wasn’t keyed to us, and the knowledge we were seeking was not commonly sought. So there would be a bit more legwork involved in our search.

Cassian gave up after only two hours. He did not enjoy the cramped corridors and aisles of books, and his fidgeting was getting on all of our nerves. Eventually Rhys kicked him out and told him to go both Helion’s commanders instead. Cassian flipped him off but stalked away, and I knew I didn’t imagine the relieved slump of his shoulders.

Aracely’s eyebrows furrowed. “He would treat his High Lord like that?”

Rhys and I glanced at each other. It had been easy to forget to maintain our front when it was only Aracely to comment on it. “Cassian is . . . his own creature,” I replied.

Aracely hummed thoughtfully but didn’t comment. Instead, she led us to another wing, this one containing information about the magic of the courts. The difference in this wind compared to the others was stark--it was dustier, and the magic that thrummed elsewhere went still and quiet here. Present, but not active. “Forgive the mess,” Aracely murmured as she raised her leg to step over a fallen beam. As the hem of her skirt dragged over the column, dust flew up into the air. I waved it away from my face, but Rhys smirked and simply made the dust particles dart away from his face.

At my look, he said, “Be a little more creative, Feyre, darling. There are perks to our brand of magic.”

We ducked through an aisle that was slanted because the bookshelf next to it had collapsed, balancing precariously against its neighbor. “Did Amarantha do this?” I asked.

“Yes,” Aracely replied. “She didn’t particularly care what she broke as long as she got what she wanted.” A shadow flicked through her eyes and I knew she was talking about more than the libraries. “Hopefully we’ll find something about the Cauldron here . . . what made it, what drives its power. The Cauldron is connected to everything, and perhaps new information on it will point us in the right direction.”

“It’s worth a try,” Rhysand breathed with a shrug, and he began running his fingers along the dusty, leather-bound tomes, looking for something that might have good information.

We left the crumbling wing, each of us with a pile of books in our arms, and then chose a private table in a small alcove. I didn’t have a good view of the ceiling from there, but my focus was on the books anyway. I flipped a book open and sat back at the sight of the script there. It was elaborate, fancy . . . and almost impossible to decipher. “Is this even in our language?” I muttered.

Rhys looked over my shoulder and chuckled. “Yes, darling. Only our ancestors were particular about their writings looking as beautiful as the High Fae.”

I rolled my eyes. “Beauty over practicality?”

“Indeed.”

“Still, how am I supposed to read this?”

Rhys brushed my hair of my shoulders and murmured, “Carefully.”

“Prick,” I muttered even as my cheeks heated at the stroke of his fingers by my neck.

Despite my grumbling, I dug in, trying to scan through the intricate text and trying to find any information that might be of use to us. Hours passed, and soon the letters were blurring together before my eyes. I groaned and dropped my forehead down onto the open book before me, unwittingly causing dust to fly up around us. Rhys rubbed my back in firm, broad circles to release the tension. He plucked at our bond affectionately.

“Find anything?” I muttered.

“A few things,” he replied mildly, indicating where he’d marked pages with ribbons, “but nothing concrete or particularly helpful. We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

I groaned and he laughed.

We left the helpful books on the table and Aracely, who had left for other duties and returned to check on us, led us out of the library again and back to her grandfather’s palace. When we arrived, Cassian approached Rhys. “Can I go over some things with you?” he asked.

Rhys glanced at me and I nodded. I was too tired to want to listen to military logistics, and I knew Rhys would tell me the most important aspects later. I knew I would have to get used to that part of my duties, but Rhys seemed content to take the brunt of it for now.

That left Aracely and I to walk through the gardens. The young princess and I moved in companionable silence for a while before I eventually said, “I’ve never met a High Fae so near my own age before.”

Aracely looked up at me, a small smile on her face. “It never occurred to me to ask how old you are.”

“Twenty,” I replied. “I was nineteen . . . then, but nevertheless very young by fae standards.”

Aracely nodded. “It’s . . . odd. I feel as though I experience my age differently than most High Fae, even those who are young like me. There aren’t many, of course. Only those courts who weren’t forced to live Under the Mountain continued having children in those fifty years. So there’s no one else my age in the Day Court. I was . . . an accident.” Her breath caught in her chest. Then she steeled herself and continued, “I don’t remember them. So there’s no point in missing them. But the way my grandfather speaks about them . . .”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “My mother died when I was eight. I feel like I should miss her, but I don’t.” I turned my face up and admired the purpling sky, which ushered in the beautiful night. I felt a pang of longing for Velaris. “It’s funny,” I said. “I miss my Court more than I miss my own mother.”

“I’ve never seen the Night Court,” Aracely said, “but I haven’t seen most of the Day Court yet, either. I . . . I try, but it is still hard to think of it as home.” She paused in her walk and turned to me, biting her lips. “May I be frank with you, Lady Feyre?”

I smiled in encouragement. “Of course.”

“For the first few months I was here, I felt like I could hardly breathe. Like my body wasn’t used to open air and I thought I was going to fly apart. And I couldn’t be touched. At all. Not even my grandfather could embrace me. And no one else seemed to understand. When you asked . . . when you asked about my nightmares earlier, I’m sorry I rebuffed you. I’m just not used to people acting like they know. Like they understand. So I wasn’t sure how to answer.”

“It’s all right,” I replied, shrugging one shoulder. “It _was_ personal. It took me months before I was able to talk about any of it . . . what happened to me down there. What she made me do. And I still have nightmares. So does Rhysand.”

I saw Aracely stiffen. “Lord Rhysand has nightmares? But he’s the High Lord of Night. I didn’t think . . .”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” I said. “He likes to pretend he’s invincible, like nothing bothers him, but what happened down there haunts him more than anyone knows . . . even me.”

“How do you love him?” she asked, her voice hoarse. Then she seemed to realize how the question had sounded, and amended, “I understand what happened with Lord Tamlin, but . . . I never imagined Rhysand in love.”

“I think he would agree with you on that point,” I said. “I still can’t quite phrase it properly--mating bonds are difficult that way. But he fought for me, both then and after, and . . . and I love him.”

“I saw him pick up the knife,” Aracely breathed, and I could almost hear her heartbeat quickening. “I didn’t understand why. I thought it was just because of what she’d done to him . . . but it was for you?”

“It was for all of us,” I said. “For me, for Prythian . . . for you. Even when I was dead, he wanted to fight her. Would have. Even if it killed him.”

Aracely’s eyes were lined with silver. “I know he thinks I hate him. But I don’t. It’s just . . . difficult seeing him again. For the longest time, he was just part of the nightmare. But now I know that he was trapped in it as much as I was.” Aracely noticed the fading light and suddenly there was a floating lantern hovering above her palm. She noticed my smile and said, “This is about all I can manage right now. I haven’t had magic in my life, not really, so I’m still learning what I can do.”

“It’s the same for me,” I said. I looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose we’re both new to magic, aren’t we?”

“So is your sister. I can tell,” Aracely mentioned, resuming our walk. “I never knew that it was possible to turn a human into High Fae, not until I watched it happen to you with my own eyes. But the Cauldron can do it?”

“I think the Cauldron can do many things that shouldn’t be done,” I replied grimly. “As for my sister, she has the added burden of managing the Cauldron’s magic on top of her own. The results are not always pleasant.”

“In what way?” Aracely asked, genuinely curious.

I paused a little closer to her light and removed part of my glamour--only enough to reveal the finger-shaped rings of burns around my neck.

Aracely looked vaguely ill. I restored the glamour as we neared the dining hall, where Rhys and Cassian were already waiting for us. “Do you know where Nesta is? Is Lord Helion finished with her?”

“Far from it,” said Lord Helion over Rhys’s shoulder. “But our energies today have exhausted her, so she said she would not be joining us for dinner.” At the look of concern on my face, he continued, “She is well, only tired. Come, let us eat and then you can see after her.”

I nodded and Rhys took my arm to lead us in for food. I hadn’t realized how famished I was until I began eating, but I still ate as quickly as I could without seeming rude so that I could go find Nesta. It took me a while before I noticed that Cassian wasn’t with us. I remarked on this to Rhys through our bond--Cassian _never_ missed an opportunity to eat.

_He’s looking after Nesta._

_Cauldron boil me. We’re going to walk in on a murder scene, aren’t we?_

I felt Rhys’s laughter ripple down the bond, and we both rose in unison to go back to our quarters, our fingers laced and linking us. It was already dark by the time we arrived, a faint band of purple on the horizon the only remaining sign of the sun. We approached Nesta’ room and heard low voices. Rhys held his other hand out to me and we exchanged a mischievous look before slinking into the shadows outside their door.

“You’re fussing and it’s pathetic,” Nesta muttered.

“I have nothing better to do,” Cassian grunted in return, and I heard rustling fabric as he shrugged his shoulders. “Following Rhys and Feyre around all day was a bore.”

“Trust me, I would have rather been doing that.”

“What did he do to you?” Cassian’s voice was low and dangerous.

Nesta sighed in exasperation. “Nothing more than I could handle.” She paused. “You know that . . . trick Rhysand uses to get in people’s heads? It was like that . . . only Helion wasn’t going for my mind so much as the magic itself. Reading it, examining it . . . it was uncomfortable. And he said he was only just getting started.”

“You don’t have to keep doing it,” Cassian said. “We can find another way.”

“No,” Nesta said firmly. “This will work. I can tell already. And I’m done waiting.”

“Does the Siphon help?”

“Yes.” A moment of silence. “Thank you.”

I sucked in a breath. I almost never heard Nesta say those two words.

I could hear Cassian take a deep breath. “Are we ever going to talk about--”

“No.”

And just like that, whatever walls had been relaxed between them shot back up. I frowned in disappointment.

“Fine,” Cassian grumbled, and I heard him start to move out of the room. Then he stopped. “I’d do it again, you know,” he said. “The Siphon and the . . . the kiss.”

A pregnant silence. “And I’d knee you in the balls again. So let’s stop trying to get each other in trouble, shall we?”

I wanted to shake my sister. She had _no idea_ the depth of goodness that Cassian possessed, what he was offering her . . .

. . . unless she did. And she was just refusing it.

Cassian growled and we listened as he prowled away. Rhys and I locked eyes and silently counted moments with each other before we knocked on Nesta’s door.

“What?” she snapped.

“Tsk, tsk, Nesta,” Rhys purred as we entered. The grin on his face was designed to piss her off, so I just rolled my eyes and plopped down in one of the piles of cushions across from her bed. “That’s no way to greet someone who cared enough to bring you food.”

I raised my eyebrows, but Rhys just snapped his fingers, and indeed, some food that he’d weaseled away from dinner appeared on the table beside Nesta’s bed, still hot.

She leveled an unamused stare at him before plucking up a piece of roasted lamb between her fingers and popping it in her mouth.

“It seems none of us had a particularly enjoyable day,” I remarked as she chewed. Her mouth twisted in wry amusement. “You’re all right, though?” I asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Nesta sighed.

“It might surprise you to know, but we actually give a damn what happens to you,” Rhys said, his temper slipping just a bit.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Nesta said matter-of-factly.

Rhys snarled in irritation and strode over to the window to look out at the fish pond. “Always a delight, Nesta.”

“I’m not here to entertain you, High Lord,” Nesta drawled, and I sat up straighter at the indolence in her tone.

“There’s no need to talk to him like that,” I said, a warning lining the edges of my words.

She looked at me and I swear I saw a flash of apology in her eyes. “I’m very aware that I am here, that I am valuable, because the Cauldron is attached to me. Otherwise I would have been left to rot in the Summer Court while the two of you ran off to save the world.”

I made a disgusted noise. “I always thought you were the smartest of us, Nesta, but when you say things like that, suddenly I’m not so sure.”

Nesta’s eyes went wide as though I’d slapped her, and then her shoulders sagged. “I’m trying, Feyre,” she croaked. Then in a flash, she was the woman of steel again. “I know I’m a bitch on a good day, but I just spent hours getting picked apart by a stranger with magic I don’t understand, so forgive me if I’m less amenable than usual.”

I wanted to have sympathy for her. I knew what it was like to have so much power and not know what to do with it--not to mention an overwhelming lack of control. I would try to tell her that. But every time I even reached out for her she rebuffed me.

Maybe I just wasn’t the person she needed.

I just hoped she would look past her pride long enough to figure out who she _did_ need.


	35. Chapter 35

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

In the blink of an eye, five days passed, and we had been in the Day Court a week. **  
**

One week gone. Five remaining.

The most frustrating part was that no one had made much progress in any department. Rhys and I found scads of interesting information, but no breakthroughs--nothing to give us a clear picture of all the variables surrounding Hybern and his plans with the Stone of Danann. I was exhausted and cranky from spending all day in the library, as beautiful as it was, but at least I had Rhys with me for most of it. Even Aracely, when she did not have other duties to attend to, offered to help us, seeming to enjoy the opportunity to explore the libraries she would one day inherit.

Even Lord Helion and Nesta were not having success with the Cauldron. Helion was still studying the intricacies of the magic around Nesta, and he hadn’t even attempted to separate them yet. I wanted to remind him of the deadline, but Rhys warned me not to press him. Nesta, too, was on edge all the time, snapping at everyone until only Cassian bothered to check on her in the evenings. Rhys always sent food, but we had both decided that it was better that Cassian look out for her, since he was inclined to do it anyway and she seemed to hate him least out of any of us.

“They are mates, you know,” Rhys said to me calmly as we took a brief reprieve by the fish pond between our searching and the evening meal. His finger traced the lines of the tattoo on my hand as we lounged beside each other in the grass. “He knows it, too.”

“He does? That explains a lot,” I muttered. Cassian was stubborn, but his persistence with Nesta was remarkable even for him.

“He’s not exactly happy about it,” Rhys said, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “He says he has too much to worry about and didn’t need this on top of it.”

“Such a romantic,” I said drily.

Rhys laughed. “I don’t blame him. And I can’t exactly give him any advice because I didn’t act on the bond immediately either. Though I must say”--he rolled over onto his side next to me and nuzzled my neck--“if things had been different, I would never have deprived myself of you for so long.”

I hummed a laugh in my throat. “Did you tell him _that_?”

“In essence.” His lips started tracing lazy lines on the skin of my neck. His tongue occasionally flicked out to taste where he’d kissed, and I stared concertedly at the sky to keep him from knowing how it was affecting me. It didn’t work of course--he could smell me, hear my heartbeat, and I felt him smile against my skin.

“Do you think Nesta knows?” I asked.

“He can’t tell. And he says that even if she did, it wouldn’t make a difference. He’s convinced she’ll reject it.”

I sat up and Rhys pulled away, frowning slightly at my alarm. “Reject it? Isn’t that . . . permanent?”

Rhys shrugged. “Not necessarily. The bond is always present, whether it is accepted by both parties or not. If you had turned me down, I would still feel the bond, and if you ever changed your mind, you could accept it later.” He ducked his head and grinned sheepishly. “I’m very glad that didn’t happen, though.”

“Does that happen often?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Rhys said, “but truthfully I think people accept the bond too soon in most cases. They hurry into it, assuming that if they feel it it must be the right time, but . . . that isn’t always true.” He adjusted to sit fully upright again, an arm draped over his bent knee. “I often wonder if my parents would have been better suited to each other if my mother hadn’t been pressured to accept the bond. If she hadn’t accepted, the Illyrians would have taken her wings, so . . . there was a choice, but not really. And I also wonder, since bonds are so different for everyone, if a bond can exist between two people and not lead to . . . well, to what we have.”

“What? Fabulous sex?”

There was a burst of delight down the bond as Rhys’s glowing face snapped up to meet mine. The bright smile quickly shifted into something predatory and devious. “Fabulous?” he purred. “Why Feyre, I’m flattered.”

“I didn’t say you were the one who made it fabulous.” Even though he most certainly was.

Rhys bit his lip and said, “You and that wicked mouth of yours . . .” He turned onto his knees and prowled toward me on his hands and knees, reaching for my mouth with his.

I stood up. He swore. “Now, now, Rhys, it’s time for dinner. Let’s not get carried away.” I was happy I’d already turned away so that he couldn’t see how hot my face had become--how hot most of me had become. I cursed myself but loved the game, and I glanced over my shoulder to see my mate still on his knees, his expression sour but very turned on.

“You’re a horrible tease,” he pouted.

“Well, I can’t spoil my High Lord by letting him get his way all the time,” I crooned, and I hooked my finger under his chin and used it to guide him to his feet. Our gazes smoldered between us, star-flecked night meeting shifting stormclouds.

“I love being spoiled,” Rhys said once he was on his feet, not tearing his eyes away from mine. But I’d won the game, and he hooked my arm in his and led us to dinner, our skin burning wherever it made contact.

-

After dinner, Cassian asked us to come to Nesta’s room--not for her, but because he’d received a message from Azriel.

We were positioned variously around the room--Nesta sitting straight-backed on her bed, piercing eyes fixed on Cassian, Rhys standing and looking out the window, and myself cross-legged on a pile of cushions. Cassian stood in the middle of all of us, the letter in his hands.

“First, he wants us all to know that Amren and Elain are well,” Cassian began. He glanced at Nesta, and though her face did not change, her posture relaxed a fraction. “Amren’s a bit restless, but the Book is still keeping her occupied, and Tarquin gave her permission to hunt his grounds. Elain is becoming more adept at her magic and she’s not bursting blooms all the time anymore.” Cassian read the letter like a statistical report--I wasn’t sure if it was written that way, or if he was just impatient to get to information that he found more important. “Lucien volunteered to help, and he’s made one trip across the Spring Court border. The lesser faeries don’t know of his falling out with Tamlin and still believe he’s allied with the High Lord. He stayed far from the manor to prevent detection, but he put out word that he’s looking for allies to go in and out. A successful first trip--Azriel hopes to finally have ears inside the manor by the end of this week.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Lucien, with his silver-tongue and remarkable ability to get through and around things--he could very well be what we needed to win this war.

“What about the Illyrians?” Rhys asked.

“Getting there,” Cassian said, though his eyes told me he’d been hurrying to exactly that information. “They prompted a skirmish in the northern part of the Autumn Court, where an attack was least expected, since Winter Court has not yet appeared to mobilize anyone. The troops attacked quickly and moved out at once to prevent retaliation.”

“How many casualties?” Rhys asked, his voice smooth and simple. A High Lord; a soldier; a commander.

“Five-hundred Autumn Court, two-hundred Illyrians. The fire . . . was not pretty.” My stomach plummeted--it seemed like so many. Seven hundred deaths? And yet Cassian had called this a ‘skirmish.’ What would the cost of a full battle be?

Rhys sucked a breath in through his teeth and turned around. “Any further plans?”

“Lucien is taking a trip to the Winter Court to see where Kallias stands. He’s remained quiet until now, avoiding attention, but we’re fairly sure we can count him on our side. He’s trapped between two hostile courts, so if he wants to protect his own lands, his best option is to side with us.”

“Kallias is cunning,” Rhys said. “He’ll only pick a side when he knows it is in his best interest to do so.”

“Why would he wait?” I asked. “The longer he holds back his own forces, the more the destruction will ravage Prythian.”

“I know,” Rhys said, “but I would be lying if I said I didn’t understand Kallias. If I were in his position, and holding back would save more Night Court lives and territory . . . well, it would be a hard decision.”

“Would it?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m not saying I would make any different decision than I’m making right now. As it is, the Night Court has been on everyone’s shortlist for a long time, so odds are engaging wouldn’t ultimately make a difference to our court’s safety. But for Kallias . . . he risked his court once, recently, in defying Amarantha. Like Tarquin, he may be reluctant to do it again.” He looked back at Cassian. “Our next move?”

“Another surprise attack further within the Autumn Court,” Cassian replied, “and when Lucien returns from the Winter Court, he’ll help obscure a legion’s entrance over the border along the south.”

“How soon do you anticipate moving on Orielle?” Rhysand asked.

Cassian bit the inside of his cheeks. “It depends on how the upcoming fights go. Ideally before Summer Solstice, but there’s no way to be sure.”

“When do you think the Dawn Court will engage?” I asked. Rhys looked at me appreciatively.

“Not until after Kallias makes his decision, or Solstice comes and all hell breaks loose,” Cassian said. “They won’t risk upsetting Kallias by crossing his lands before they know whether or not Kallias will ally with them. In this case, the High Lord of Winter’s caution is a benefit to us.”

“Overall, on target,” Rhys said with a firm nod. “Tell Azriel to communicate our condolences for the lost troops. If we succeed here and can halt Hybern before he unleashes his forces, we might stand a chance of winning this war.”

“And if we don’t?” I murmured, my eyes fixed on the floor.

Rhys came over to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “One step at a time, Feyre. It’s far too soon to start doubting.”

-

I believed him, until the mark on my chest began to burn after I had gone to sleep that night.

 _One week has passed, Feyre Cursebreaker_ , echoed the King of Hybern’s voice in my mind. I scrambled to throw up my mental shields, but they were as intact as ever. Y _ou have five weeks to save yourself, and your sisters, and Prythian. That is but the blink of an eye to me, one who has walked millennia on this earth. What can you accomplish in such a moment? Your efforts amuse me, but go on trying. In only a blink, I’ll have you and the world at my fingertips._

The message ended and I shot awake, gasping for breath. Rhys was roused, and he instinctively began to rub circles on my back with his palm, giving me room and a chance to breathe. “What was it?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hybern. Taunting me,” I choked out. “Sick bastard.”

“Did he hurt you?” Rhys asked, sounding more alert at once.

I shook my head. “No,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “Just pissed me off.”

“You’ll serve him his due one day soon, Feyre,” Rhys murmured, pressing a butterfly kiss to my tight jaw. “But for now, the best way to defy him is to sleep on. Don’t let him take that from you.” He pulled me back down beside him and tucked me into his chest, and only moments later, I was sound asleep once more.

-

We were preparing to go to the library again that day to search, but Aracely stopped me after breakfast. “Lady Feyre,” she said, “would you join me walking the city today? I know you have so much to do, but . . .”

“I would be honored,” I said to the princess. I hadn’t seen much of Ochieng yet, and in passing through it to get to the library every day, I had been intrigued by the rich aromas and beautiful colors.

“I’ve explored this city more than any others. As soon as I . . . as soon as I had recovered enough to leave the palace, I came here every day. Most of them know me by name now,” Aracely said, referring to the merchants. Indeed, as we passed a merchant with beautiful rugs and carpets on display, the shopkeeper called her name and waved, and she returned the gesture.

We spent the morning walking around, the hot sun becoming more intense as the day wore on. Aracely introduced me to the finest of Day Court cuisine, such as ugali and rich, flavorful vegetables. She took me to her favorite jeweler, and before we left I picked out a collar of colorful stone beads that clinked together when I walked. I decided against the earrings, which looked far too large to be comfortable, but Aracely chose a pair for herself.

It was nice, I realized, shopping. I hadn’t done it since Mor had taken me in Velaris, and with all the pressing matters of war, I had forgotten how relaxing it was. I could tell that Aracely appreciated being with someone her own age, too, and I thought I saw her smile in a way that she usually didn’t when she was in her grandfather’s palace. I could tell she adored Lord Helion, but from what I had gathered this past week, he sometimes forgot that she wasn’t his daughter, which led to awkward interactions that troubled Aracely deeply. I appreciated the chance to slip out of my High Lady persona for a little while--it came back the moment we encountered any courtiers in the city, but that was only twice and the encounters were brief.

“Why do you do that?” Aracely asked me, curiosity lifting her brow. “It seems almost like you’re two different people.”

I gave her a small smile. “There is the me that is the true Feyre, and I have worked far too hard to keep her alive to expose her to the . . . connivances of strangers. The face I put on in court, in front of enemies, or strangers . . . it can handle the waves, because at the end of the day I can take it off and not have been hurt myself.”

“I know what you mean,” Aracely said quietly, looking at her hands, which were adorned with rings and bangles. “I did the same thing Under the Mountain. But when I came out . . . I had trouble figuring out which me was _me_. I’m still not sure I know.”

“No one can tell you, either,” I said. “One thing I can say is that whatever _she_ told you, or her monsters . . . they’re wrong. You’re more and better than anything they ever told you.”

Aracely peered up at the sky. “Thank you, Feyre,” she said. “I . . . I want to give you something.”

“There’s no need,” I said mildly, without asking what she had in mind.

Aracely ignored me. “Honestly, I am surprised that you haven’t asked already. But if anyone deserves a chance at the Sundrops, it’s you.”

I stopped in my tracks, stunned. “The . . . the Sundrops?” The sacred elixir at the top of the Sun Temple . . . she wanted me to have some? “I thought they were only for members of the Day Court.”

Aracely shook her head. “If you have served the Day Court in some way, you can gain access. The magic of the temple determines how high you can get . . . but I think you can go all the way to the top.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You saved all of Prythian, Feyre,” Aracely said, “and you restored our magic during Calanmai. And I think you would benefit from the Sundrops.” She looked pointedly at my throat, which my burns were currently hidden by my glamour.

“I thought only Dawn Court magic could do that,” I said quietly.

“It won’t get rid of them entirely,” Aracely said. “You’ll likely still have some of the scars, but they’ll be hidden unless you choose to show them . . . the opposite of what you’re doing now.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I confessed.

Aracely pressed her lips together and then guided me into a private corner of the market place. Her eyes glistened and I thought she trembled. “This is what I’ve always been meant to look like,” she said, gesturing to her face and body, “but this is not how I looked when I came out from Under the Mountain.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and the air in front of her shimmered, and it was like a glamour falling away.

Suddenly, the beautiful young princess was gone. One of her ears disappeared, revealing an ugly mass of cut and burn scars on the side of her face. The scarring continued down her jaw and the side of her neck before stopping on her shoulder. Her forearms each bore three clawed scars, and when I looked down on the ground, I saw that she was missing most of the toes on her right foot.

I stumbled back, clapping a hand to my mouth. Tears had sprung to my eyes and I felt sick. This . . . this had been _normal_ Under the Mountain--for people to come away so scarred and broken they were shadows of their former selves. I had been like that--I’d almost lost a limb down there, and all for Amarantha’s entertainment. A wave of panic surged over me but I clamped it down, pushing it back to my memory where it belonged. I released a long sigh through my mouth and nose.

Aracely cringed at my reaction, but she let out a small gasp when I threw my arms around her and pulled her close to me. “I have seen my fair share of scars, Aracely,” I said, my voice shaking. “You survived--we all survived.”

Aracely swallowed and pulled away, the face of the beautiful princess in place again. “The claw marks came from the Attor,” she said, “and the face scarring came from a group of Amarantha’s monsters when they were angry at me for resisting their advances.” She took a deep breath. “The scars on the outside aren’t as bad as the ones inside.”

“I know,” I breathed, and when Aracely met my eyes I knew she believed me.

“I’m not glamouring myself to hide them,” she explained. “I am like this all the time now, without having to hide it. People only see my scars if I choose to bring them to light. It will be the same for you, if you take the Sundrops.” She paused to finish regaining her composure. “And yes, the Sundrops took away my nightmares. Not my memories, but . . . the nightmares.”

I sucked in a breath at the thought of being totally free from the horrors that still plagued me at night. They weren’t as constant as they used to be, but every new day in this war added to the mix of things I was forced to see in my sleep. To be free of them . . . “Would it work for Rhysand, too?” I asked in a whisper.

Aracely’s face tightened. “I don’t know. If all you say about him is true, then maybe. But if you go up for yourself, perhaps you’ll find out.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I confessed.

“There’s no need to say anything but yes. It would be as much of a gift to me to know that I was able to repay you for all you did, even in the slightest measure.”

I let out a long breath and gave her a genuine smile. “Then yes.”


	36. Chapter 36

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

The only entrance to the Sun Temple was through the Hall of Heritage, up flights upon flights of stairs that Aracely insisted we climb, despite my suggestion that we winnow.

“It’s part of the process,” she explained.

I grumbled something about useless fae customs, but Aracely just grinned in amusement. Once on the roof of the library, we were at the bottom of the cylindrical temple, which was another seven stories high.

“Let me guess . . . every floor is a court?” I asked with a labored breath.

Aracely nodded. “Night Court first, then Dawn, then the Seasonal Courts, and Day at the top.”

“Should I take it personally that my court is at the bottom?” I joked. Of course, it made perfect sense why the floors were arranged the way they were, but I wouldn’t be the High Lady of the Night Court--or Rhysand’s mate--if I didn’t say something about it.

Aracely smiled and led me inside, and I was briefly surprised by the sudden pitch black. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I could soon see the ebony pillars lining the circular room, the black marble floor glittering in the dim light of glowing stones mounted around the walls. My heart swelled at the beauty of it, and I felt my own magic react, spreading out in shadows all around as though I could explore the room with them. No one was on this floor, and if it weren’t for Aracely’s warning that the Sundrops were only effective at the sun’s apex, I would have stayed and simply sat in the darkness for hours. A wave of longing swept over me, and only Aracely’s gentle urging moved me on to the next flight of stairs.

Dawn was the next level, a hall of mirrors and bending auburn light, with clouds and fresh rays of the sun seeming to move through the glass panes. We moved on to the next court, Autumn, a room which smelled richly of incense and was lined with brass and gold borders and floor tiles. Winter followed--I wondered if it only felt cold because of the glass everywhere and the faint mist that filled the room and caused the air to glitter.

Then came Spring. I paused and the scent of flowers assaulted my nose, reminding me exactly of how the Spring Court smelled, what I had come to love and then hate. The place was full of green and pink and yellow gauze curtains and cushions, ferns and hedges tucked around the edges. This level was entirely empty--the past three had all had some individuals meditating or resting or beseeching within them, all so silent they had been like phantoms. But Spring was empty of all of that.

Next was Summer, marked by a calm reflecting pool in the center of the floor. Unlike the other levels, it was open to the warm air, and a breeze blew through the creamy arches and mosaic patterns.

Aracely paused before the bottom of the next flight of stairs. “You’ve made it through all levels without any trouble so far,” she remarked.

“Should there have been trouble?” I asked.

“By ‘trouble,’” Aracely clarified, “I mean that most people feel called to their own level, and the compulsion to stay is so strong that they lack the energy or desire to climb higher. You haven’t demonstrated anything like that.”

I thought about telling her that, despite my rank, my Making had put a piece of each court inside me, and so there was something about each of those levels that had felt right--even Spring, though I still hated to admit it. “How often do people press on and try to get the Sundrops?”

“Not often,” Aracely said. “They’re a sacred thing. And if one tries too hard--if they’re not meant to have the Sundrops--they’ll climb in endless spirals for hours and never be able to move on.”

“That sounds terrible,” I said, thinking of how weary I was just from the flights we’d climbed already.

“Shall we?” Aracely asked, gesturing for the final flight of stairs. I nodded.

These stairs were unlike the others. As we stepped upon them, they glowed beneath our feet, as though guiding us up, up to the top of the Sun Temple, until we were on the roof, looking over all of Ochieng. I stopped and stared in awe at the beauty of the golden city beneath us, knowing in my bones that this was another place I would love to paint. Far beyond, I saw the glittering sea edging the amber grasses--I hadn’t realized we were so close to the sea. The sight struck me to the core. There was so much beauty in the world, beauty I had never imagined when I’d been a human living in that hovel. I was struck, not for the first time, by what a tremendous gift immortality had proved to be.

The rooftop itself was its own work of art. Tiles webbed with gold and bright colors made up the floor, and I could detect some sort of pattern that would surely have meaning to Aracely, even if I couldn’t decipher it. I had expected arches, or at least some kind of railing, but there was nothing to keep someone from falling off the edge if they weren’t careful.

“You can’t see it now, because the sun is directly above us,” Aracely said, “but at any other time of day, you know the hour by looking at the shadows the tower casts across the city.”

“It’s a sun dial?” I asked, an amazed grin spreading across my face.

“Yes,” Aracely said. “But you should hurry. I’m not sure how long the magic will last.”

“What do I do?” I asked, my nerves striking at last.

Aracely pointed to the small basin on a podium in the middle of the platform. “There’s a ladle. If you can, take three sips of it.”

“If I can?”

“If you’re not meant for the blessing, you won’t be able to scoop up any of the liquid,” Aracely said. “Now go on! Hurry!” She waved her hand to urge me forward.

I crossed the short distance between where we stood and the podium. I looked down and saw a beautiful, shimmering gold liquid in the bowl--it reminded me of the pool of starlight in the Spring Court. I carefully took the handle of the ladle and scooped up some of the Sundrops. I breathed a sigh of relief when the liquid came away easily.

I was about to lift the ladle to my lips when I heard a voice--it echoed in me like the white stag’s had done. _What is your name?_

I paused, the ladle an inch from my lips. “Feyre,” I breathed. I added no title, no eponym--because in that moment, all that mattered was that I was Feyre.

_Drink, Feyre._

I pressed my lips to the ladle and sipped the Sundrops. They were of the same consistency of the pool of starlight--thinner than oil, but thicker than water. Smooth and warm. As I swallowed it warmed and cleansed my very blood. I lowered the ladle and took another spoonful. The voice returned. _What do you love, Feyre?_

My throat tightened. I loved so much. “I love Rhysand,” I murmured, “and all those in his Inner Circle. I love my sisters. I love the Night Court. I love Prythian.”

_Drink Feyre, lover of mortals and fae._

I drank again, doubling the effect of the first sip. By the third scoop, I was prepared for the voice, if not the question. _What do you want, Feyre?_

This, I realized, was the hardest question of all, and one that Rhys had asked me himself many times. I had never been able to answer him. I had never dared to want much of anything, but now, in the midst of this crisis and with everything I loved threatened . . . “I want Prythian and every innocent in its borders to be safe from those who wish to tear it apart,” I said. “I want my loved ones safe and healthy and happy. I want to face eternity knowing that I did something to keep away the evil from this land. I want . . . I want what I do to matter.” I did not care if Prythian remembered my name for centuries. I did not care if they knew I had done anything, as long as they benefited . . . as long as whatever I accomplished made a difference for the better.

There was a long pause, and I feared I had answered wrongly. Finally: _Drink, Feyre, bringer of peace._

This appellation rung through my bones even as I sipped the final ladle of Sundrops.

The voice continued as I swallowed: _Your wounds and scars are cleansed, only to be shown when you desire. The burdens that haunt you in the dark of night shall no longer keep you from rest. The memories that give you pause in your waking hours shall no longer inhibit you from living. For all that you have done and all that you will do, take the blessing of these Sundrops and go in peace._

I was silent as I stepped back from the podium, feeling the cleansing surge through my blood. I wanted to thank the voice, but I had no idea whom to address--could not identify its source.

“Feyre?” Aracely asked, stepping closer. “Did it work?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes,” I breathed. “It worked. Who . . . whose voice was that?”

Aracely smiled wistfully, looking toward the podium. “No one knows. I heard it too, when my grandfather brought me here. Some say it’s the Mother. Some say it is the Sun itself. Some think it is something else entirely. But she is fair with her blessings and gracious to those who come to her with pure desires.”

Tears stung the edges of my eyes as I looked at my palms. I had taken down my glamour, but still I saw no scars, no tough skin or blisters. I could already tell that the scarring on my thighs was gone, as were the burns around my neck. “Thank you, Aracely,” I said. “These means so much.”

Aracely took my hand in hers, and I was surprised by how soft her hands were. “It was an honor to share that with you. Come, let us go tell the others what has happened.”

I followed her back down to the city, feeling as though I was walking on air.

The wonders of this world would never cease to amaze me.

-

Rhys knew something was different the moment we walked into the room.

Whatever conversation he’d been having with Cassian stopped and he rose to his feet, his burning violet eyes fixed on mine as she strode across the room like nothing in the world was more important. My breath stopped in awe at the grace with which he moved, and when he was before me it seemed the whole world had stopped.

“Feyre,” he murmured, stretching out a hand to caress my cheek. “You seem . . .” He couldn’t even find a word for what I was. Truthfully, I would have been glowing at the moment if I were not putting so much effort into holding it back for Aracely’s sake. I did not want to make her feel awkward when I could use more of her court’s magic than she could. She didn’t deserve that.

“I am,” I replied, taking his hand in mine and bringing it down to feel the skin at my throat. “No more burns.”

Rhys let out a tiny, amazed breath. “How?”

“Aracely,” I said, glancing at the young princess. “She took me to receive the Sundrops.”

Rhys tore his eyes from me and looked at Aracely. “You did that for her?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. His hand held mine, his thumb running patterns over my now-smooth skin. “Thank you,” he rasped. “Aracely, thank you.”

Aracely met his gaze without flinching. “The Sundrops freed me of the shackles that burdened me Under the Mountain, and I thought your mate deserved the same, after all she has done.”

“Aracely, I--”

The princess’s eyebrows rose a fraction, but she seemed neither surprised nor disappointed when Rhys could not voice the thoughts that still held him captive. Instead, he bowed his head in deep respect.

“I need to go see my grandfather,” Aracely said. “But I look forward to seeing you all soon.” She smiled warmly and departed, leaving us alone.

When she was out of sight, Rhys bent toward me and kissed me deeply. “I don’t know what to say,” he breathed when he pulled away.

“There’s nothing to say,” I assured him, finally releasing the hold on the glow under my skin. Rhys’s eyes lit with love at the sight of it. I looked past him to see my sister perched on a footstool, watching us with a blank face. Cassian was grinning from where he sat on the ottoman, his wings stretched out behind him. “There is something else that needs to be taken care of, though.” I broke away from Rhys and strode toward Cassian, my right, tattooed hand transforming into talons while I extended my left arm before me.

Cassian’s eyes widened and he seemed to know exactly what I planned to do. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “I’m healed now. I no longer need to save the healing magic in my own blood. And I promised you, Cassian. I promised we would try. It took three mouthfuls for Rhys, so let’s start with that and see where it gets us.

“Feyre,” he rasped, his voice raw.

“What’s going on?” Nesta demanded, looking between us, her gray-blue eyes sharp as steel. She clapped her hand to her mouth, turning slightly green, when I dragged my talon up my own arm, causing blood to ripple forth from my skin. I extended my arm toward Cassian.

The commander looked to Rhys, who was standing just behind me. “Your High Lady is offering you a gift, Cassian. Take it.”

Nostrils flared and posture stiff, Cassian lowered his mouth to my bloody arm. Nesta shrieked in disgust, but Cassian sucked three mouthfuls of blood from my arm. He pulled away, and my blood stained his teeth and mouth, but the wound on my arm had already healed, my proper fae healing restored.

Cassian shuddered and spread his wings wider, and I watched with amazement as, before our eyes, the thin parts of membrane that had only just healed over regained their proper thickness, and the ragged ends of skin at the edges of his wings healed into a smooth, strong line. Nesta lowered her hand from her mouth, her eyes wide in awe.

Cassian flared his beautiful, strong wings entirely without the slightest hint of pain, and when he looked over his shoulder at them, he broke. He coughed out a sob and pressed his palm to his face, propping his elbow on his tears. “Fey--Feyre,” he sobbed. “Thank you.” He was fighting so hard to remain composed, but he failed miserably. Tears streamed down his face even as a wide smile was spread across his face.

None of us said anything. We just let him have a moment, waiting until he was ready before we spoke. I watched in awe as Nesta reached out a slender hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. He didn’t look up, but his hand shifted to grip her hand. Her expression was one of firm, reluctantly affectionate resolve.

“I feel _whole_ again,” he finally sighed, sitting up straight.

“You were always whole,” Nesta argued, though she didn’t let go of his hand. “You were just stuck on the ground.”

Cassian looked at her and gave her a crooked smile. “You’ve never been flying, have you?”

Nesta stiffened. “No.”

Cassian’s grin widened. “So you don’t know what you’ve been missing out on.”

Nesta’s lips parted, but she didn’t have a response.

“As a matter of fact,” Rhys said, sliding closer to me and providing a cloth with which I could clear the blood from my arm, “I was going to suggest we take a fly tonight. Now that my mate is healed and I can take her without worrying about ripping open her injuries, and your--” Rhys stopped himself as Cassian’s eyes blazed. “Your wings are healed and could likely use the exercise. I’m sure Nesta would enjoy the . . . opportunity.”

 _Cauldron, Rhys, I thought you were good at subtlety_ , I said through our bond. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I think I’ll pass,” Nesta said, releasing Cassian’s hand to fold her arms across her chest.

“Spoil sport,” Cassian taunted, and Nesta’s lip curled.

“It really is wonderful, Nesta,” I told her. “And I’ve flown with Cassian before--he’s a safe flyer, as long as you don’t piss him off.”

Nesta snorted. “My chances are not good, then.”

Cassian smiled at her, but it wasn’t his usual wicked grin. It was warmer, and it faded the moment she looked back at him.

What idiots.

“We’ll go after dinner,” Rhys said. “It’s safer for us to fly by night. Even better, we could winnow to the mountains just east of here. I’m sure the view will be astounding.” His face became distant as it did when his pleasant waking dreams occupied his mind, and I squeezed his hand. I couldn’t wait to taste the skies with him again.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((((NSFW Content in the Last Third))))

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

We all met outside our rooms long after sunset, when the rest of the palace slept and the sky had turned inky black. Cassian’s wings were spread wide--I doubted he’d tucked them in at all since I’d last seen him. Rhys’s wings materialized from the shadows behind him and I stared for a moment, slack-jawed, at the majesty of them.

He noticed me staring and lifted one dark eyebrow. His mouth twisted in a smirk and he crossed his arms across his chest. “See something you like?” he asked.

I smiled. “I’ve missed seeing that impressive wingspan.” He’d kept them mostly hidden since we’d arrived at the Day Court, save for the night he’d been too upset by his nightmare to think of hiding them.

The other eyebrow lifted. “Is that all?”

My face melted into an expression that mirrored his. “I’ve miss the other wingspan, too.” Even after I’d allowed him to take my pain, we hadn’t slept together, worried that our . . . _enthusiasm_ would cause some of the scabbing skin and blisters to reopen. We’d settled for teasing--lots of it--but now that I was healed . . .

“Oh, that one,” he said mildly. “I’d show it to you now, but in some circles that’s considered indecent.”

Cassian gagged and my cheeks heated. With a wicked grin, Rhys tugged me close and wrapped his wings around us before he began to nuzzle my neck. His hot breath caressed my skin and made the tiny hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Don’t worry darling,” he murmured. “My wings will not be the only part of me getting exercise tonight.”

My blood heated as my hand drifted down to the bulge in his tunic. He shuddered and then snarled in approval, nipping my neck. His hand rose to my breast, brushing his thumb across it until I shuddered, too.

“You two think you’re being discreet, but you’re not,” Nesta griped, finally joining us from her room.

Rhys peeled back his wings and smirked at her, not bothering to remove his hand from where it cupped my breast. “Jealous, Nesta?” he purred.

My sister threw back her head and barked out a laugh. “In your dreams.”

 _You’re such a prick_ , I said to his mind. He flashed a grin and squeezed my breast once before pulling away and facing Cassian. “Ready, brother?” he asked, and the commander grinned.

Rhys held us all and winnowed us to the top of one of the peaks not far from Ochieng. I smiled the moment the cool night breeze blew across my face. I looked out in wonder over the flat landscape that spread for miles below us, painted in midnight blacks and violets until it seemed like a calm sea extending into the distance.

“It’s so beautiful,” I sighed.

Rhys stepped up behind me and scooped my hair away from my shoulder. “So are you,” he said into my ear.

“It’ll look even better from the sky,” Cassian said, eyes cast up. He shifted on his feet and shook out his wings, and I knew that it was mere moments before he would take off and leave the rest of us behind.

“Are you ready, Nesta?” I asked.

My sister’s face bore a carefully-constructed expression of disinterest. “How exactly do we go about doing this?” she asked.

“Like this,” Rhys said, and in a flash he swept my legs out from under me and cradled me in his arms, close to his chest. I linked my arms around his neck, ‘accidentally’ flicking his pointed ear as I did. He flinched but grinned at me.

I looked at my sister and saw her and Cassian locked in a staring contest, both of them stubbornly refusing to approach the other first. “Cauldron spare me,” I muttered. “Get _over_ yourselves!”

Cassian growled and snatched Nesta’s arm. She stumbled toward him, fixing him with a blazing glare, but she allowed him to sweep his arm behind her legs and bring her up securely into his arms.

Rhys and Cassian nodded at each other, and in a synchronized bound they leapt into the air off the cliff face, massive wings spreading out behind them. As the valley roared open beneath us, I heard my sister scream, followed by Cassian’s booming laugh and whooping. Rhys and I joined in, allowing our voices to bounce off the rock walls around us. Then, when the echoing had faded away, I heard a sound ring out that I had never heard before in my life.

Nesta was laughing.

It was a pure, clear, ringing laugh, completely guileless. Like a bell. The peals of it echoed through the night sky, scattering across the wind like lost stars. Cassian swooped through the air and she squealed in delight.

Rhys and I watched them, transfixed, the night wind whipping through our hair. “Let’s give them a moment,” Rhys murmured into my ear. I nodded, blinking away the tears from my eyes. “Why are you crying?” he murmured as he banked into a different current, spiraling us higher.

“I’ve never heard her laugh,” I said.

“Never?” Rhys asked, frowning.

“Never. Not in my whole life.” Before our mother had died, she had always been the proper one that Mother had taken to parties to impress her friends with--Elain had been the sweet, laughing one, and Nesta had always been happy to let her fill that role. After Mother had died, none of us had felt inclined to laugh, and then three years later . . . well. I couldn’t blame Nesta after that.

My sister’s laugh rang out through the skies again, and Rhys appeared thoughtful. “Have you ever heard of the fae laugh?” he asked.

I shook my head in puzzlement.

“It’s likely one of the nonsense things we spread around, an old wives’ tale,” Rhys explained. “And we know that it’s a story because of everything we believe about the Cauldron. But it’s a nursery tale that says faeries were born when the very first child of the Mother laughed. It doesn’t make much sense, but . . . it sticks with us all even after we leave the nursery. The power of a pure laugh to create something good in the world. The fae laugh.” He turned his head to peer after my sister and Cassian. “I’m not sure why I just thought of it.”

We fell quiet and simply enjoyed the flying for a while. I tucked close to Rhys’s chest and felt his heart beating, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Kiss me,” I murmured without thinking.

His midnight eyes bored into mine, unfathomable and compelling. “My pleasure,” he breathed, and he pressed his lips to mine in a soft sweet kiss.

I tangled my hands in his hair to pull him closer and I felt him smile against my lips. “Rhysand, I love you,” I said, almost gasping with how strongly I felt the urge to say those words in that moment.

The smile he gave me in return was one of such heartbreaking beauty that I caressed his face and prayed thanks to the Mother for the gift of him--for how blessed I was to be the person he shared those smiles with.

His eyes shifted from my face to look where we were going, and he murmured. “Feyre, look.”

I shifted in his arms to see where he was indicating, and far in the horizon past the ocean inlet not far from Ochieng, I saw lights glittering on the horizon. They were small and distant, but . . . achingly familiar. “Is that . . . Velaris?” I asked softly.

Rhys nodded, his smile growing even bright. “It’s home,” he said.

Tears slipped from my eyes as the pang of longing struck me, and he brushing them away with his finger. “Soon, darling,” he said. “We’ll return home soon. When this is all over, we can spend centuries there and never leave if you’d like.”

“I just . . .” I began, struggling for the words. “It makes me angry that you spent all that time away, protecting it, and then after only a few months you have to leave again. And for me . . . Rhys, I’ve never had a home. Not like the one you’ve given me. And I’ll fight like hell to keep it safe, but in the meantime . . . I just miss it.”

Rhys kissed my forehead. “I know. I feel the same way. But I can endure it, as long as you’re with me. Here, in my arms, where you belong.” He gazed at me and bit his lip. “Would you like your first flying lesson?”

Eagerness fired through my blood at the same time my stomach clenched in nerves and I gripped his tunic. “Don’t drop me,” I said.

Rhys laughed and shook his head. “I would never do that, Feyre. I’ll never let you fall.” He kissed my cheek and then began to turn me around in his arms so that his hands gripped my waist firmly and I was looking out over the world. He lowered me a touch so that I could have the assurance of my feet on his as he beat his wings to keep us upright in the sky. “Let me see those beautiful wings of yours,” he murmured in my ear.

It took only half a thought before my wings emerged from the night behind me. Rhys had positioned himself perfectly so that his grip was not at all disturbed by the joints of my wings in my back. “Just beat in time with mine,” he said. “Feel the rhythm.”

I closed my eyes and learned the tempo with which his wings beat, and I slowly began to move in the same time. I didn’t get it perfectly at first, and our wings brushed against each other, causing each of us to shudder with reluctant thrill. When I finally got it, Rhys let us hover in the air for a moment before kissing my neck. “Do you feel how the air is moving against your wings? They’re made for each other. Your wings are like . . . well, like your paintbrush, and the sky is your paint. There is no masterpiece without the two working together.”

I smiled. “That shouldn’t make sense, but it completely does,” I said.

Rhys chuckled. “You know I have a way with words. Are you ready?”

“For what?” I asked, the nerves assaulting my stomach again.

“I’m going to tip us forward. I’ll still hold you tightly and I’ll be doing most of the flying. Just focus on keeping your wings moving.”

My hands instinctively moved to grip his wrists. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure I want to,” I stammered.

“I’ll be holding you the entire time,” Rhys said, his voice soothing in my ears. “If you’re terribly frightened, we’ll pull up. But I believe in you.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “All right,” I said.

I felt Rhys’s wings tip forward and I made my wings do the same, and very slowly, Rhys worked us into a horizontal position and began accelerating us forward--slow enough that I didn’t panic, but quickly enough that we didn’t lose altitude. I felt my stomach turn as I was suddenly facing the ground, but I forced myself to keep my eyes forward, hooking my legs around Rhys’s ankles as much as possible to help hold my legs in the air. Most of my energy was focused on keeping my wings beating in time with his.

“Yes, Feyre,” Rhys said, his voice warm and adoring. “Just like that.”

When I became used to the position and the rhythm, I allowed myself to close my eyes and experience the breeze blowing against my face, feel the tautness of my wings and the way the wind caressed them. Rhys’s hands were firm but not crushing around my waist, but outside of that I felt weightless, as though nothing at all held me to the ground anymore.

Rhys’s finger stroked my side, and I returned to the present. “Are you ready to have some fun?” he asked.

“I’m not sure I’m skilled enough for ‘fun’ yet,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” He paused, returning us to a vertical position. “Put away your wings now. I’ll take over.”

I did as he said, and the moment my wings vanished, he rocketed into the sky so fast that all the breath was ripped away from my chest, and I couldn’t even scream. Higher, higher he sped, until I could tell the flat earth from the sea anymore and we were wrapped in nothing but night and stars. Then, when he had gone as high as he was able, he snapped his wings in and corkscrewed in the sky, sending us plummeting down toward the earth at a steady angle.

This time I screamed, but the terror quickly turned into delight as the adrenaline seized my body. Down, down we fell, Rhys’s arms around me the only things keeping me from tumbling through the sky. He laughed in my ear, and I could barely hear him because of the ripping wind tearing all around us.

At long last, he whipped his wings up and we pulled up, banking sharply as we spiraled through the air, slowing our descent bit by bit until Rhys landed us both on the cliff from which we had started.

I couldn’t stand up properly when we touched down, though I tried. My knees wobbled and I started to go down, but Rhys caught me and spun me to face him, crushing me to his chest so that his scent washed over me. He grinned broadly, his eyes newborn stars. “Did you like it?” he asked breathlessly. It was adrenaline, but I also sensed his fear that I would say no.

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. “It was the second-most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt,” I said when I broke away. My pulse still pounded in my ears and my bones still felt like jelly, but I was euphoric.

“Second-most?” Rhys asked, quirking his eyebrow up.

My only response as to reach behind him and run a long, luxurious stroke along the membrane of his wing. He immediately hardened against me, and I grinned, biting my lip. “ _That_ ,” I said, glancing down and then back up at him, “inside me. _That_ is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt.”

Rhys’s wondering eyes turned hungry as the feral desire washed over him. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice suddenly rough and deeper, “I can give you both in one night.”

I stroked his other wing at the same time that I pressed myself as close to his body as I could. He groaned and my fingers tangled in his hair. “Be my guest,” I dared him before crushing my mouth to his.

Rhys’s arms wrapped entirely around me as he kissed me as deeply as he could possibly manage, his tongue reaching well past the base of mine as they danced together, rejoicing in the song of the night and the thrill of the wind. By the Cauldron, I had missed this. I had missed _him_ \--his arms around me, his deep and unashamed kisses. My mate--my miracle of a mate.

He tore his mouth from mine to begin devouring the skin of my neck with kisses, complete with tongue and teeth. I tilted my head back and moaned as he began to pulse his hips against mine, making promises for what was yet to come. When I looked up at the sky, I gasped to see streaks of light cascading across the blackness--not spirits, this time, but actually shooting stars, appearing like sparks across the sky. “Rhys,” I breathed, and he looked up to see what I saw.

He grinned and kissed my mouth, dragging my lower lip between his teeth. “It’s for us, Feyre. A gift from the Mother . . . just for us.” He writhed harder and faster against me, holding me so tight I couldn’t get away, and I let out another long moan. Clothes--there were too many damn _clothes_ between us. I reached down around my own hips and began to pull my skirt down, but Rhys growled to stop me. His hands drifted to my back as he dropped to his knees before me and pushed up my shirt so that he could layer kisses all along my stomach. Then, he took the band of my skirt in his teeth and pulled down, using the tips of his fingers to get the offending material off my hips. He hissed in pleasure at my wetness, which had already soaked through my underwear. “Feyre, you’re a goddess,” he moaned, and he used his teeth again to strip away my lace underwear and bury his face in me.

I threw my head back and writhed as he had his way with me, licking in small circles and then plunging deeper, letting out his own feral groans at my taste. One hand drifted down to assist him in pleasuring me, while the other was still splayed across my back. I gasped for breath as I felt my release nearing, but I slammed my hands down on his shoulders. “ _No_ ,” I gasped out. “Rhys, I want _you_. Please.” I dropped to my knees before him, legs still spread to satisfy the throbbing and heat between them.

He snarled in approval and rose from his knees enough to let me pull away his pants and release his beautiful length. He was as ready for me as I was for him. I crawled closer to him and he leaned until he was on his back beneath me, using his guiding hands on my waist to lower me onto him. I let out a long, loud groan as he filled me. A small corner of my mind was glad we were so far from civilization--we could be as loud as we wanted and nothing but the mountains would hear us. Nesta and Cassian were a long distant memory.

Slowly, I began to ride him, writhing my hips until he was gasping for breath. His hands snatched for my shirt, destroying it as he tore it off my body, exposing my full and heavy breasts to the chill of the night. His hands held them, urgently caressing them as I moved on him. Before long he reached up and grabbed me by the shoulder to pull me down on top of him so that he could begin showering me with kisses as we neared a precipice ever more thrilling than the one that sat not too far away.

Our hips moved in perfect time, and Rhys moaned my name between kisses. I was too out of breath to say anything, until he bucked up his hips to thrust deep inside of me and I saw stars. I gasped out his name as my release hit me, and his hand reached between us to stroke me through the waves of it. “Rhys . . .” I moaned, and this was enough to finish him, and I sighed in awe and pleasure as he spilled himself in me. “I . . . I love that,” I gasped, shaking hard as I collapsed on top of him.

“I love being inside you,” he grumbled, his hands stroking my hair and my back. Neither of us wanted to pull away from each other, though we were both spent--for now. “Feyre, you have no idea how much I missed _touching_ you like that.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” I whispered, “because I missed you just as much.”

We held each other for a long while as we both recovered, and soon we were helping each other to our feet, pulling on articles of clothing as we did. Rhys held up my torn shirt, the expression on his face one between arousal and guilt. “I fear we’ve had a casualty,” he declared.

I held my hand to my chin, pretending to examine the ruined top. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m comfortable like this, then,” I said, lowering my arms to reveal my bare breasts. An unintended shiver ran over my body from the coolness of the night, and Rhys tossed my shirt away to be found by some unfortunate hiker later.

“Let me keep you warm, love,” he murmured, holding me close to his chest again.

“Maybe in bed?” I asked. Despite how much I wanted to go another round, I hadn’t slept in almost a full day, and if I was going to go on touching him, I wanted to be in bed where I knew I could at least fall asleep if I wanted.

“Your wish is my command,” Rhys said, and he winnowed us back to Helion’s palace, where we spent the rest of the night catching up on over a week of lost touches.


	38. Chapter 38

Rhys and I didn’t go to breakfast the next day. Instead we lounged in bed, tracing our hands up and down each other’s bodies. Rhys paid special attention to all the parts of me that had been burned and bruised, until I thought he was going to bruise me all over again with his lips on my neck.

Eventually we began to regret not eating breakfast, and Rhys got up to ask one of the servants to bring us some food. I giggled as the lesser fae observed his taut, tattooed chest, wide-eyed, before scurrying away. “At least you remembered to put on pants,” I teased as he turned around to crawl back onto the bed with me. “I prefer you without them, but I’m not sure everyone feels the same way.”

Rhys laughed in the back of his throat and sat behind me, tucking me into his chest between his bent knees. He idly played with my breasts as he said, “They wouldn’t know what to do with me, Feyre darling. At least, not like you do.”

I turned my head to nuzzle his neck contentedly. Then I laughed. “We completely abandoned Cassian and Nesta last night,” I groaned.

Rhys smirked. “Somehow I don’t think they minded.” He lowered his face to my shoulder and said, “We ought to have a bath, otherwise our evening activities will be exceedingly obvious to everyone.”

“And your point is?” I murmured.

Rhys pinched the skin at my waist and I squealed, jerking away. “Personally, I don’t mind smelling like you one bit, but unfortunately we have to consider everyone else’s weak sensibilities.” He moved so fast I couldn’t register the motions, and I was soon in his arms while he carried me to the bath.

It was hard work not undoing our efforts even as we scrubbed, but we managed. When we emerged from the bath smelling like vanilla and cardamom, our food had arrived and we picked away at it, unable to resist teasing each other, though through some miraculous willpower we refrained from jumping on each other again.

“Are we going back to the library today?” I asked as I nibbled on a strawberry.

“I don’t see that we have another choice,” Rhys replied. “We haven’t learned anything particularly helpful yet.”

“I just feel like we’re wasting time,” I sighed. “Who’s to say there’s anything in that library at all? Now that I’m healed, I would rather we focus our efforts in trying to get Mor back.”

Rhys nodded. “I know. I almost agree with you. Believe me, I want her back just as much as you do, but we won’t be able to stop Hybern until we know why he wants you and your sisters. You might be healed, but I’ll admit that I still don’t want you anywhere near him until I understand why he’s after you. And if we can find out why he’s dying . . . that will be an enormous advantage to us.”

I grimaced but nodded reluctantly. “Well, back to the archives it is, then,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed. Just as I got to my feet, Cassian appeared in the doorway, looking grim. “What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

“Nesta would like you see you both,” he said, his hazel eyes looking between us nervously.

“Cassian, what is it?” Rhys asked, standing beside me, already alert.

“She has something she wants to tell you.”

Rhys and I looked at each other. “You know what it is already?” Rhys asked him.

Cassian swallowed and nodded. “But she wants to tell you herself.”

I gripped Rhys’s hand in mine as we followed Cassian to Lord Helion’s study, where he was hard at work studying my sister’s bindings. When we arrived, I was alarmed to see Helion leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest, _glowering_ at my sister, who sat on the other side of the room, not meeting his eyes, though nothing else about her seemed to indicate tension.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, looking between my sister and the High Lord of Day.

Helion let out a long breath through his nose. “It seems your sister has been deliberately hindering our progress.”

I snapped my face to Nesta. “What?” I demanded.

She did not answer, so Lord Helion continued, “In order to decipher enchantments, I need to know something about the person to whom the spell is bound. I thought Lady Nesta was perfectly clear about this. However, if the baseline from which I’m working is _entirely wrong_ . . .” He trailed off and resumed glaring at my sister.

“Baseline?” Rhys asked.

Lord Helion huffed. “I began this process assuming that Lady Nesta was pure human Made into pure High Fae. I was analyzing her bindings according to this critical framework. But as it appears, she neglected to correct my assumptions in this matter.”

“I am not following,” I said, getting frustrated. “Nesta, what is he talking about?”

“You sister was not pure mortal,” Helion snapped. “She has faerie blood in her--and rather powerful faerie blood at that.” The High Lord’s dark eyes fixed on me. “I’m assuming that this is true for you as well?”

“I don’t know!” I protested. “Our father was most certainly mortal, as was our mother.”

Nesta finally sucked in a breath between her teeth. “No, she wasn’t,” she murmured.

I turned my body to face her. “ _What_?” I demanded.

“Our mother wasn’t human. Or at least, not entirely.”

I felt the world shifting beneath my feet as everything-- _everything_ I thought I’d known about myself was challenged. “How is that possible?” I breathed. “And how do you know?”

“She told me,” Nesta said, “before she died. She wasn’t from the continent, like we’d all believed. She was from . . . somewhere else. An island. She didn’t tell me where. All she told me was that her father was High Fae, and her mother was half-human, half-faerie. So you, Elain, and I . . . we’re all part fae.”

I sank into the nearest chair. Rhys stared between Nesta and eye, and I could see the thoughts flying through his eyes, though I was too stunned to reach into his mind to read them. I felt him scrape against my mental shields and I let him in, but he didn’t try to speak to me. Instead, he seemed to be sifting through my own whirling thoughts. Thoughts of my mother. “By the Mother and all that is holy . . .” he murmured.

“What?” I asked.

“Feyre,” he said, dropping to his knee beside me. “Feyre, your mother . . . she was Miryam and Drakon’s daughter.”

There was a rushing in my ears. “No! That’s impossible!” I argued in disbelief. “You said that none of their descendants ever left the island!”

“I didn’t think any had,” he said, holding my shaking hand in his. “But I can see her face in your mind . . . she looks like them. I hadn’t . . . I hadn’t even considered it as a possibility, but . . . suddenly things are making sense.”

“Making _sense_?” I cried. “None of this makes sense!” I glared at Nesta, fury causing my lips to pull back from my teeth. “ _Explain_.” I demanded.

Nesta trembled and Cassian laid on hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “I wasn’t supposed to know. None of us were. But I caught Mother doing magic once--I can’t even remember what it was--and she had to tell me the truth. She told me that, because of a blessing on her parents that she never explained, everyone in her family was destined to find their mate. Her mate was our father.”

“That’s possible?” Lord Helion asked, skeptical.

“I felt the bond with Feyre before she was Made,” Rhys said. “It was faint, but there.”

“She broke the rules--she wasn’t supposed to leave the island,” Nesta continued. “But she dreamed about our father and set out to find him, against the wishes of her parents and the rest of her family.

“She adored him. He couldn’t return the bond, but he married her and loved her, and it was all she could have hoped for. Or so she said. She never thought of the consequences of having children with him, not until I was born--and I had the fae laugh.”

My head whipped to look at Rhys, whose violet eyes were wide. I didn’t say anything, only continued to listen.

“Ou mother heard my laugh and knew that if any fae ever heard it, they would know what I was. What _she_ was. So she taught me how to be proper, told me that ladies didn’t laugh, and swatted me if I ever dared.”

“I didn’t know that,” I breathed.

Nesta shrugged. “Her lessons had mostly sunk in by the time you were born. Elain didn’t have the fae laugh, so she was able to giggle freely, and I loved that about her. I didn’t even care that I wasn’t allowed to laugh because I took such joy from hers. And I was determined from the moment I laid eyes on her to protect her, protect her right to laugh and love as she did. She was so perceptive, and good, and . . .” Nesta trailed off, swallowing a sudden wave of emotion. I could see her struggling to report this as neutrally as possible, but it was a fight. She didn’t look at anyone as she spoke--her eyes were instead fixed on the wall behind Helion’s desk. “Mother didn’t seem as worried about anyone figuring out she was part fae, but you . . .” her eyes flicked to me and then back to the wall. “I could never say what it was about you, but she feared your potential the most. Something to do with . . . your reading, I think. She wasn’t just negligent, in not letting you learn. She avoided it.”

Rhys sucked in a breath. “Do you think she knew about the Book of Breathings?”

“I have no idea,” I murmured.

“I found out the truth about her when I was nine,” Nesta said. “I know she didn’t tell me everything. I was too young to understand. But she did explain where she’d come from, and why she didn’t want any of her family knowing about us.

“Then,” Nesta said with a long sigh, “when I was eleven, she . . . went.”

Lord Helion raised his eyebrow and I said, “She died.”

Nesta let out a whimper and her composure snapped for the first time. “She didn’t _die_ ,” she moaned. “They found her.”

“Who found her?” I demanded.

“The fae from the Fortunate Isle. The members of her family who were not pleased with the fact that she had wed and reproduced with a mortal. They took her back. And I don’t know what happened after that.”

“She didn’t--I saw her dying!” I argued, my voice rising in volume. She had wrested that promise from me--to protect my family and stay together.

“But you didn’t see her dead,” Nesta said, her voice hoarse. “None of us did. Because in the dead of night, they winnowed into our house and took her back, and our father could not stop them. I watched him from the closet, begging them not to take her, and how callously they refused him. If he hadn’t known before, he knew after that night--what she was, what we were. And he never went to look for her. Never tried to find her again, to bring our mother back. That was the night I began to hate him--and began to hate the fae.”

The truth of it clanged through me. Something about the way she said the words made me unable to doubt her. My mouth was dry and I could barely breathe. Our mother--our mother had been taken by the _fae_. And as I stared at my sister, the fierce, unyielding, hateful eldest Archeron, so many things suddenly made sense. She had watched our mother be dragged away, watched our father fail to save her or get her back, and she had remembered that hurt every day since.

A heavy silence hung over all of us as we all processed Nesta’s words.

“What does it mean?” I asked Lord Helion, my voice weak. “What does it mean for us that we were all part fae?”

Lord Helion rolled his shoulders. “I’ll need to look at everything again, in light of this,” he said, “but one thing I can already say is that it makes sense that the Cauldron latched on to Nesta, given that she has the fae laugh.”

“I don’t even understand what it is,” Nesta said, looking at the floor, elbows propped on her knees.

“There are legends--ones not quite so tied to history, but rather to the future--about three fae gifts. There’s no true basis in history for them, except the words of a Morrigan millennia ago.”

I looked at Rhys but he answered my question before I asked it, “Morrigan is a title as well as a personal name,” he said. “Our Mor is not the first Morrigan, but she has the same truth magic.”

Helion nodded. “This ancient Morrigan spoke of three fae gifts--the fae laugh, the fae song, and the fae dream. The fae laugh is connected to the creation power of the Cauldron, though unlike the Cauldron--which has been corrupted--the fae laugh is pure. Good. The fae song is a key--it unveils things that are hidden and brings forth life and truth. The last is sometimes interpreted as ‘fae oath,’ but it’s agreed that the third can wield words and images to unusual degrees. It’s connected to the Book of Breathings, since the one with the gift of fae dream can see and interpret things unseen or unfathomable, and under the right circumstances can seal events with their words. The story is that these three together will bring on a new age in Prythian, though no one knows exactly what the nature of that new age will be.”

My vision was blurred with tears and I gripped Rhysand’s hand for dear life. “We have the gifts,” I murmured. “Nesta has the fae laugh, Elain the fae song, and I the fae dream. That’s why Hybern wants us.” I took a deep breath and continued on, “Even without the Cauldron, he could use Nesta’s gift to his advantage. He needs Elain to get to the Fortunate Isle, to unlock it with her song, most likely. And me . . . he would use me to seal his reign into permanence. It’s . . . it’s worse than I thought.” I pressed my hands to my mouth and tried to compose myself, though I couldn’t keep the tears from slipping down my face. “Our mother knew,” I whimpered. “She knew what we were, and . . .” My eyes lifted to fix on my sister, and a terrifying coldness seeped into my bones. “You knew, too. You knew all the time and you never told me!”

“I swore not to tell!” Nesta snapped, sounding a bit wild. “She said that nothing would hurt us if no one knew, and . . . I thought if I kept you and Elain both away from the fae, it wouldn’t matter. But you had to go and kill that damn wolf and put us all in danger--”

“We were _dying_!” I roared, standing to my feet. “Is that your idea of protecting us, Nesta? Letting us all starve? I did what I had to do for us to survive.”

Nesta had risen to her feet as well and we locked eyes with each other, sending daggers through our glares. But then, in the same moment, we both seemed to remember the last time we’d fought. Nesta crumbled, tears finally washing over her face. “I tried to get you back, remember? I wanted you back, Feyre. I was so, so afraid of what would happen to you if the High Fae who had taken you found out about what you were. It’s a miracle they never did.”

Rhys let out a long breath. He hadn’t yet let go of my hand. “I think I should have seen it. The way you sent me dreams of you, your dreams, even before you were Made.”

“We were all a little preoccupied,” I rasped, not looking away from my sister.

“If there had been a way, I would have taken you both across the sea, far away from the Wall, just to make sure the fae never found you like they’d found our mother,” Nesta said. “I didn’t give a shit about the fae, not after they took our mother. I just wanted us all to be safe, because I loved you both so damn much it hurt to breathe sometimes, but I could never tell you because if I let my walls down for one second it might reveal what I was--” Nesta choked and clapped her hands to her mouth, and when Cassian stepped up beside her she whirled around and buried her face in his chest, finally releasing the sobs that had been pent up inside her for so long.

Nesta’s confession stole my breath away. She had never said that to me before. Never told me she loved me. And I had seen her tear up before, but never cry like this. Rhys wrapped his arm around my waist for support, but when I gathered my senses and processed everything, I stepped away from him and walked over to where Cassian held my sister, his eyes burning and his face unfathomable.

I touched her shoulder and she flinched. I think I even heard Cassian bite back a growl. But I persisted, and soon Nesta turned her tear-stained face to look at me. “We’re in this together, Nesta,” I said. “Our mother knew about my gift too, so she made me promise to keep you safe and keep us together. And I don’t owe a thing to her, but you had better believe that I am going to keep that promise for you and Elain. We’re going to face what’s coming together, and we’re going to make the world regret the day it decided to come after us.”

Nesta swallowed and slowly released Cassian, who respectfully stepped back. I held out my arms to her, and she stepped into them, cautiously wrapping her arms around my back and tucking her cheek against my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Feyre,” she said, and I knew this one apology was meant to cover everything--the fight, my injuries, her secrets, her failings in the hovel. And there was a small part of me that wished she would apologize for each of those things in turn, but I was so caught up in this awkward but sincere embrace that I realized I didn’t care.

This was my sister, and I would tear Hybern limb from limb for hurting her.

Though I suspected that she would probably beat me to it.


	39. Chapter 39

**CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

“So, what do we do with this information?” I asked, tucking away the emotions and the history and the confusion to move forward--to press on, in spite of everything.

Lord Helion stroked his chin. “For one thing, this will make it far easier to understand what is tying Nesta to the Cauldron. Knowing that she has the fae laugh goes a long way in explaining things.” He shook his head and smiled faintly. “It is funny how the greatest truths often lie in nursery rhymes,” he mused.

“A _nursery rhyme_?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over my chest. “My mother was terrified because of a _nursery rhyme_?”

“Yes and no,” Lord Helion said. “When a Morrigan speaks a truth, it is unwise not to listen. But the world was chaotic then, and her warnings slipped into the realm of new mothers and nursemaids, unheeded by those who might have studied the words and bound them in the pages of books. It does not make them less true, only less . . . regarded. A foolish thing, if you ask me. The first things we learn in life we learn from our mothers. If that is not critical enough to be honored, then nothing is.”

My eyes flicked to Nesta’s face, thinking about what her first lessons from our mother had been--hide your laugh, don’t feel, let no one in. And for me--knowing that my mother had deliberately kept me from learning how to read . . . it stung something deep within me that I had never expected to feel again so long after her death--the hurt that I felt whenever she had passed me off or looked me over in favor of her glamorous friends.

Rhys sensed the unease within me, and he passed a soothing stroke down our bond as he stepped near me again--never willing to let us be apart for long. This man, my mate--he loved me like no one else in this world ever had. He’d given me tools and knowledge and freedom, a chance to define my own fate. An eternity wouldn’t be enough to thank him for that.

“We should write to Elain,” I said to Nesta. “She needs to know about this, so she can protect herself.”

“What if someone intercepts it?” Nesta asked.

“The messages Cassian sends to Azriel are secure,” Rhys said, “but even if it was intercepted, it would not make a difference. Hybern already knows what you all are. I’m not sure how he figured it out, but I do know that Elain will be safer if we tell her than if we don’t.”

“I’m expecting a letter from Azriel today,” Cassian said. “He will update me on the progress of the most recent maneuvers. We can inform him of all of this in our reply.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked between Nesta and me, a look of steely determination on his face. “Elain has Azriel, Amren, and Lucien there to protect her. Nothing is going to touch her.”

I smiled grimly. I wasn’t worried about Elain. My sister had a way of earning the love of everyone around her--she was practically invincible.

“Well, Nesta and I ought to get back to our sessions,” Lord Helion said. “Lady Feyre, if you have any questions about your own gifts, feel free to ask.”

“Perhaps this will help our searching in the archives,” I said, though I doubted it would. Regardless, we couldn’t afford to spend more than another week here. Whether we found what we were looking for or not, we would have to move on eventually. At least I knew that some good had come out of this trip already--and some truths that I had never expected to uncover.

-

As soon as we left the grounds of Helion’s palace, Rhys winnowed us, but we did not arrive where I expected we would. Instead, we were back on the mountains far above Ochieng--and I was in Illyrian fighting leathers.

I placed my hands on my hips. “We have research to do,” I griped.

Rhys laughed and tossed his hair, rolling his armor-clad shoulders. “Yes, darling, but you’re out of shape. We both are. The time will come when we’ll need to test our mettle on the battlefield, and I want both of us prepared. And,” he said, casting me a look, “I know you weren’t looking forward to the Hall of Heritage again.”

I grumbled under my breath, but he was right, of course. And the cool wind that whipped up on these cliffs was refreshing.

“Fighting practice, magic practice, flying lessons,” Rhys said, holding up his fingers. “We’ll research in the mornings, starting tomorrow, and then we’ll come out here. But now, High Lady, I want you to show me just what you’re capable of.”

I grinned and bore my new fangs, allowing my hands and feet to shift into talons and my wings to unfurl from behind me.

Rhys smiled in pride. “My queen,” he said, before letting some of his own inner monster show as well. The night rippled behind him, contrasting with the bright Day sun, and he lowered himself into a crouch, fixing his violet eyes on me, before he pounced.

It felt good to fight him again, to return to the banter and the competition that came so naturally to both of us. I dodged him, feeling his talons barely scrape my thigh as he almost grabbed me. It was a game of cat and mouse, but after a while we realized we were both playing cat. We each landed a few tempered hits on each other, and I was alarmed at how quickly my muscles were barking for rest. Rhys pushed me for a while, but then we took a rest, sipping water from a flask and sharing some lamb strips, flatbread, and hummus that Rhys had packed to bring along. The hummus was my favorite, and I took a big glob of it right on my fingertip. Rhys laughed at me so I lobbed it at his face. “I hope you’re planning to lick it off me,” he whined, looking utterly ridiculous with the splatters on his face.

I obliged him, of course.

After lunch, we explored my Day Court magic more, experimenting with the glow and light I could summon to find out if it could be used the same way as the night we both loved best.

After a round of testing, Rhys paused and tilted his head, thinking. “I wonder,” he said, and I felt his power brush against my mental shields, requesting access. I left the sliver open for him always, but he still asked.

“What are you wondering?” I asked as I felt him slip, my body involuntarily trembling at the presence of _him_ within me. I felt him poking around at the back of my head.

“I’m wondering,” he said, “if you can bend your Day Court magic the way I bend people’s minds.”

He pressed at a corner of my mind and suddenly it was as though the mountain around us had turned into clouds. _I can make you see anything I’d like--you can do the same. Perhaps you can create illusions by bending your light_. He pulled away from my mind and the clouds shifted back into stone.

“What should I try to make you see?” I asked, already reaching toward his mental shields.

“No, no,” he said, wagging a finger. “Bend the light.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” I griped, folding my arms over my chest.

“That’s for you to figure out, darling.”

I hopped up on a stone and crossed my legs, and he leaned against a face of rock nearby, watching me with amusement. “I don’t suppose you’ll reward me if I make it work,” I said, looking sideways at him.

“Do you have something in mind?” he asked, smirking.

“Maybe,” I said, flicking my eyes away. Though I did not look at him, I heard him hiss a curse under his breath as I sent him an image of me in some lacy underthings through our connection.

“That looks more like a reward for _me_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, though I felt his delight through our bond. “Focus, my lady.”

My Day Court magic was the branch I had explored the least thus far, so it wasn’t long before I got frustrated and insisted that Rhys keep teaching me to fly instead.

“You’ll never figure it out if you don’t practice,” he said with a frown.

“I know,” I said, “and I will. But I’d rather practice flying. And I think that might be more useful on a battlefield than bending light.”

Rhys pursed his lips. “If I weren’t so eager to get in the sky again, I would pin you to that rock myself and make you practice.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”

Rhys was not amused. “Get over here, Feyre.”

I pouted and stalked over to him and the corner of his mouth twitched as I looked at him petulantly. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but he swept me into his arms and kissing me once before he leapt into the sky, causing both of us to smile.

He spent the afternoon mostly talking--explaining the mechanics of it, how he had learned to fly, and the rules that I would need to keep in mind. He demonstrated some maneuvers, holding me tight in his arms as he spiraled through the air, negotiated air currents, and demonstrated basic principles. When he set me down on the ground, he instructed me to spread my wings out wide behind me.

“Your wings are like another set of hands,” he said as he walked around me, examining the structure of my wings. “We even use the same names for the bones. This is your humerus,” he said, dragging a finger along the main bone that emerged from my back. I shuddered, but he ignored me. “Your radius and ulna,” he said as he continued his finger’s path down my wing. “This,” he said, grabbing the claw jutting out of my joint, “is your thumb.”

“My _thumb_?” I asked.

Rhys nodded, grinning. “And this is your second set of fingers.” He traced a line down each of the bones connecting my membrane.

I could not contain the squeal at the rush that ran through me. I snatched my wing away and Rhys burst out laughing. “Ticklish, darling?”

I growled at him and he laughed harder, his face bright and beautiful. “It’s because of these that Illyrians can move so easily in the air,” he continued when his laughter had died down. “And you can use your thumb to grab things if you’d like. Or as a weapon, though that can be a complicated maneuver and most don’t dare risk their wings that way. That’s something I’ll need to teach you, too--how to protect them in battle.” He paused in front of me and held his finger to his chin. “Come here,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the drop-off nearby.

“You’re not going to have me try yet, are you?” I asked, starting to panic.

“No, love,” he said. I couldn’t help the thrill that ran through me at how easily the pet names spilled from his lips. He seemed particularly affectionate today, but I was not complaining. He strode to the edge of the cliff and I hesitantly followed him. As I approached he slid his hands around my hips and stepped behind me so that I was between him and the sheer, terrifying drop. The wind gushed upward from below as it was channelled by the rock faces. My wings went taut against it and I sucked in a frightened breath.

“I’ve got you, Feyre,” Rhys said, squeezing my hips to reassure me. “Practice moving your wings. You can control each finger--feel the way the wind moves against them when you move them different ways.”

For the first time, it felt odd having these extra limbs. It was one thing moving the larger bones, but having control over the finer details was awkward and difficult to wrap my mind around.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Rhys instructed, his lips against my neck. I tilted my head closer to him and I felt him smile. “Close your eyes. Feel the wind. Just _be_ , Feyre.”

I did as he said. I closed my eyes, let my mind and whirling thoughts and fear slip away so that I was only aware of my body--Rhys’s hands on my hips, his mouth near my neck, and the wind pushing against my wings. I tilted the far edges, bent and folded my wings different ways, all while imagining how it would be when I was actually in the air.

“Beautiful,” Rhys breathed against my neck. “Feyre, you’re a natural.”

“I have a good teacher,” I replied, keeping my eyes closed.

One of Rhys’s hands moved from my hip, and before I could predict his movement he dragged two fingers down the sensitive membrane of my wing. I sucked in a gasp and instinctively threw my head back against his shoulder, arching my body as the erotic rush surged through me. “Rude,” I gasped. I would have pulled my wings in, but Rhys was in the way. He laughed and crossed his arm in front of my body to palm my breast. Then his other hand dragged along the other wing. I whimpered and tried to wriggle away, but Rhys’s arm was a band around my chest. Then his hand returned to my hip, only to follow along my pelvis and find its way into the band of my pants. “Rhys, I can’t--I can’t focus,” I groaned. Indeed, whatever control I’d managed to have over my wings was quickly falling apart.

“You’ll need to learn to fly under duress,” he purred, dragging his hand along the band of my pants while the other kneaded my breast. “You need to be able to do this even with distractions.” His hand slipped lower into my pants as his tongue stroked my neck.

“ _Rhys_ ,” I barked, panicking as the wind beat against my wing and I lost all sense of control. Fear seized my stomach and I pushed back hard against Rhys, ripping away from him to stumble away from the edge. As I whirled away, I felt my wing hit him and he swore, losing his balance. It wasn’t until I’d fallen to my knees and tucked my wings in again that I looked back to Rhys--and found him gone.

I’d pushed him over the edge.

“Rhys!” I screamed, crawling on my hands and knees toward the precipice. Cauldron boil and fry me, what had I done? “ _Rhys_!”

I had just reached the edge to look over when a burst of motion sent me reeling back. Rhys burst up over the edge, tremendous black wings spread. He surged up with the wind until he could escape the tunnel, and then he came spiraling back down toward me.

He touched down on the ground and strode over to me, but I stumbled toward him first and threw my arms around his knees. “Rhys, I’m so sorry!” I cried, tears pricking my eyes as my body quaked. What had I done? What had I done? I could have killed him.

I could have killed my mate.

His hand reached down to cup my face. “Feyre,” he said, tilting my face to look at him. His eyes went wide at my tears and he pried my arms away so that he could drop to his knees before me. “Feyre! Feyre, love, it’s all right!” He wrapped his arms around me and tucked me into him to ease my tremors. I clung to him so tightly it must have hurt. He kissed my temple and said, “Do you think that’s the first time I’ve been pushed off the edge of a cliff? It’s Cassian’s favorite pastime.” He pushed me back from him to examine me. One look at the expression of love on his face told me that I was forgiven, but I clung to him tighter.

He slipped his finger under my chin. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I got carried away, and I frightened you. Do you forgive me?”

My breath was still fast and shallow, but I nodded. My mind whirled, addled by the pleasure Rhys had caused to surge through me as well as the fear, panic, and relief that had quickly followed.

He brushed the hair back from my face with his finger. “Note to self: cliff faces are not the appropriate place for pleasuring you.”

I laughed weakly. “Well, we were bound to find _someplace_ that didn’t work.” Tables, walls, temples, the sky, the grass, the water, all fine . . . sheer cliff faces, not so much.

“Why don’t we call it an afternoon?” Rhys asked, helping me to my feet. “Tomorrow we can start off in the library and then try again with flight school after lunch.”

“Sounds fair,” I sighed, wrapping my arm around his back and tucking myself in under his arm. I looked up at him, lips slightly parted.

“What?” he asked as he saw my expression.

“I was just thinking,” I said, guiding his hand to my abdomen, “I’d very much like to be under duress again when we get back to Ochieng.”

A warm laugh made Rhys’s chest rumble against me. “I think I can arrange that.”


	40. Chapter 40

**CHAPTER FORTY**  

Unfortunately for both of us, we were met immediately upon our return by Cassian, a letter clutched in his hand and Nesta at his side. Rhys and I glanced at each other once before gesturing him to follow us into our chambers. Rhys leaned against the bureau and I tucked myself against him, his arms over my shoulders to hold my hands in front of me. Nesta took the pile of cushions, and Cassian pace as usual. **  
**

“And the news?” Rhys asked calmly.

“Good or bad first?” Cassian grunted.

“Good,” I chirped before anyone else could choose.

Cassian sighed and nodded. “Lucien’s first trip to the Spring Court was productive, and word began to spread among the lesser faeries in his absence. He’s returning tomorrow to see if he can secure allies to help get Azriel’s ears into the manor. The Wall has not come down and so far, Hybern has not mobilized any of his own troops to attack our forces or the humans.”

Rhys nodded and his hands squeezed mine. “And the bad?”

Cassian’s face darkened. “We took heavy losses from the Autumn Court when we moved further into the court. We had thought more of Beron’s forces were concentrated in the south, especially after Calanmai, but . . . we wrong wrong.”

“Numbers,” Rhys ordered, his body going stiff behind me.

Cassian rattled off the numbers lost--numbers so large I felt a rushing in my ears and my heart stuttered. “Half the legion was wiped out,” Cassian growled, the promise of murder on his face. He stopped near Nesta on the bed and his nostrils flared. He clenched his fist and stared at the bedpost as though it were something he would very much like to kill. Nesta laid her hand over the Siphon on the hand nearest her, and when he felt her touch he took her fingers in his and squeezed until his knuckles paled. Nesta did not even flinch.

Rhys slipped out from from behind me and kept one of my hands in his as he crossed to place his other hand on Cassian’s shoulder. Cassian’s jaw tightened but he gave a single nod in thanks.

I couldn’t imagine what it had to be like for Cassian, and even Rhys, sending thousands of men into battle, knowing that some, most, or even all of them might not return. I had yet to see a fae battle, but from what I had heard . . . my throat tightened at the thought.

“You’ll need to go north and organize reinforcements,” Rhys said gently but firmly. “On our end, we can see about requesting aid from Lord Helion’s forces.”

“We also need to drag in Kallias by the ear,” Cassian growled. “His integrated elite force would really show the Autumn Court what they were dealing with.”

“Elite force?” I asked.

Rhys nodded. “The lesser fae of the Winter Court are fearsome, and Kallias’s predecessors decided to take advantage of this fact--not unlike our court’s relationship with the Illyrians.” His face was grim. “They could do a lot of damage if they joined our side.”

“Or if they didn’t,” Cassian said.

“Azriel said that Lucien is going to treat with Kallias when he returns from the Spring Court, right?” I asked. “Should we send a letter in advance, so we lay some groundwork before he gets there?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Rhys said. He looked at Cassian. “We should write back to Azriel immediately with our information, and then draft something to Kallias while we’re at it.”

These two tasks easily consumed the rest of the night. We took a break only once for dinner, but it was well after midnight before we finished with our letter to the High Lord of Winter. Nesta even fell asleep against Cassian’s shoulder--her session with Helion after we had left had been more draining than usual, and so her usual iron determination to stay awake with us all failed her. Cassian did not seem to mind at all, and when we were all finished he carried Nesta to bed in his arms.

My mind felt like mud after the efforts required in trying to compose the perfect letter. Rhys had far more practice with politics than I did, so I usually deferred to his expertise in some areas, but he had a tendency to come off a little demanding, so my contributions included softening the tone and rephrasing a few sections. Still, it was a long and precise operation, and by the time Cassian and Nesta left, both my mind and body were exhausted.

I collapsed on the bed, groaning as my face hit the pillow. Rhys laughed and fell beside me, rubbing his hand on my back. “Welcome to royalty, my love,” he murmured. “This is what it means to be a queen. It’s not always the most enjoyable occupation.”

I rolled over to face him, our noses almost touching. “I would take this over looking pretty and throwing parties for Tamlin any day.” I pecked my mate on the lips and he brushed his thumb along my cheek.

“Let’s get our rest,” he said. “We have another long day tomorrow.”

I grumbled, but I let my mate tuck me into his arms and hum me to sleep.

-

The next morning, Cassian and Nesta agreed to continue working with Helion’s commanders to start negotiating the terms of a military alliance between our courts. Rhys and I stuck to our plan of going back to the library, but neither of us was particularly excited about it. In fact, there were plenty of other things we were much rather be doing, and that made it more than a little difficult to focus on the task at hand.

I tried my best, but between my discouragement and the fact that today was very warm compared to any other we’d so far experienced in the Day Court, I found it hard to make my eyes actually read the titles on any of the books. We went deeper and deeper into the Hall of Heritage, far into the wing that Amarantha had destroyed, until the sounds of the other scribes and scholars faded away and it sounded as though we were the only two people in the entire library.

It was well over three hours into our search when Rhys decided that we needed a little . . . break. And naturally, once I decided that I didn’t care about how sticky and grumpy the heat made me, I had no trouble agreeing with him.

We got a little carried away.

Teasing, tormenting, on and on we went until Rhys had pinned me against a locked and forgotten vault in the middle of the archive and pounded into me until our groans had echoed through the domed ceiling overhead. We were so caught up in each other that we did not care about our glamours or the magic and power we both took such care to hide. Rhys’s night became the home of my seven kinds of magic as it poured out of me. I could think of nothing except the feeling of my mate thrusting inside me. When we had both finished, the magic came snapping back within us in a blink, until we were alone, sweating, and panting, in the dusty archive.

It had been a surprise to both of us when the locked vault was suddenly opened wide to us. Rhys clothed us again with his magic, and he even spared some extra to rid us of the dust and sweat that clung to our skin. Our scents still mingled, and we were not yet done touching each other--our hands were laced together as we ventured into the vault, which led us down a flight of stone stairs so dark and steep that I conjured a Day Court lantern to light our way.

I was a little uncomfortable walking down the stairs--Rhys had worked me well, and the ache between my legs was still lingering and would for a while. I didn’t say anything, but Rhys noticed my ginger steps and paused me on the stairs. “Did I overdo it again?” he asked, and I knew he was thinking of the fiasco on the cliffs the day before, too.

I smirked and ran my hand over his chest. He raised his hand to hold mine there. “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?” I asked.

He grinned, “No, but those sounds you made earlier make me think you might be feeling some lasting effects.”

“Because you’re so talented?” I quipped.

“Naturally.” He flicked my nose. “Let me carry you,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I protested.

“Indulge me. I haven’t had my fill of you yet. Besides, I owe it to you for the side effects of my fantastic lovemaking.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re insufferable,” I muttered. But I did not fight him as he easily lifted me into his arms and cradled me against his chest. I breathed in his scent and smiled--our scent, stronger after sex, filled my nose and reminded me of what bound us. “All right,” I conceded. “This is better.”

I felt his laugh in his chest as we descended the stairs, my light hovering beside us.

The vault was remarkable for its plainness. There were no carvings, no runes, nothing to indicate its importance. After several minutes of continuing to climb down, Rhys said, “Are we sure this is a good idea? Aracely could be right and there’s nothing down here. And . . . we’re getting quite deep.”

I looked up at him and saw the very slight tension of his jaw, and I realized what he was thinking about--what he was remembering. “We got out,” I breathed, repeating the words he’d once told me. He nodded tersely and exhaled through his nose. I stroked my thumb along his neck to soothe him. “We should go on a little more,” I murmured. “I think I hear something.”

I wasn’t lying. From somewhere, deep below us, I thought I heard a tune--there might have been words, but I could not make them out from where we were. Below the melody was a mumbling, like a low chant, and above it was a sweet laugh.

Rhys carried me down, and sure enough we soon found an end to the stairs. Rhys set me down as we examined the room before us. I wasn’t sure what I had expected to find at the bottom--perhaps I had imagined a large chamber, or a tomb, or something as equally threatening--but I saw none of these things. Instead, it was a small chamber, lit by strands of mineral that glowed blue, tinting the room in a peaceful aura. The ceiling was low, only just high enough to keep Rhys from needing to crouch. The stone tiles on the floor were cracked but still in place, and they led to a small, calm pool at the other end--a matter of only a few strides.

There was a thin podium in the middle of the the pool that came up to about my waist. Balanced on it was a scroll, and I realized that it was this scroll that sang, this scroll that laughed, and this scroll that chanted.

I stepped toward it and then abruptly stopped as the magic within me reared its head in wonder.

“Feyre, are you all right?” Rhys asked.

“Like calls to like,” I murmured. Just like with the Book of Breathings. Something about this room, this scroll . . . it was calling to me.

I stepped again toward the scroll and shuddered at the pulse of magic, but I did not stop.

“Be careful,” Rhys cautioned, and I nodded.

It only took five steps to come within reach of the scroll, and by the time I was there, the force of the song, the laugh, and the chant filled my mind and blocked out almost all of my other senses. With a trembling hand, I reached out and touched the scroll.

A wave of magic rolled over me and I cried out, and Rhys was beside me in half a moment, holding my arm with his--but I could not pull away. The pleasant cacophony filled my bones and my blood and spoke to something ancient within me that I had never known was there, a tiny nut of essence that now cracked open and spilled from me into the scroll as the scroll likewise poured into me.

Rhys was there with me, in my mind, feeling what I felt and knowing what rushed over me. “Breathe, Feyre,” he murmured. “Remember to breathe.”

I sucked in a breath and exhaled, then did it again, and again. With each passing breath the intensity of the magic diminished, and clarity returned to me.

“Well done, Dreamer,” a voice beside us said. I snatched my hand away from the scroll and turned, only to yelp in surprise and back into Rhys as I saw none other than Mor standing beside us in the tiny chamber.

“Mor!” I cried out, and I threw my arms around her. “What are you doing here?”

Mor went stiff beneath my arms--unlike her.

“I--I am sorry, child. I am not _your_ Mor,” the woman said, and I released her like she had burned me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The woman actually looked a little embarrassed. “You are the Dreamer, so I appear as you wish I would. You wish to see _your_ Morrigan, but I am not she, in truth. I am her ancestor, Macha, the last to possess the truth magic that she so keenly wields. By my time, the words of the Morrigan were no longer so valued, as the fae began to look to their kings and lords for their truth--a truth that changed with regimes.”

“What are you doing down here?” I asked.

“I am not, truly,” Macha replied. “You see me because you, Feyre Archeron, are the Dreamer, and can see things unseen by others. You see me, because you have drawn my truth from the scroll, as you once drew power from the Book of Breathings.”

I swallowed, distracted by Macha’s likeness to our dear friend. “You are the one who spoke of the fae gifts,” I replied.

Macha nodded solemnly. “I dared to speak of a new age in Prythian when this age was only just beginning. So my truth was ignored. But I knew it would come to pass, and so it has.”

“My sisters and me,” I said. “Why us, and why now?”

Macha’s eyes flashed, though her face stayed serene. “Consider your questions carefully, Feyre. You do not have much time here, and you may need to choose which truths are most important to you.”

I paused and thought carefully. “Why is the King of Hybern dying?”

Macha hummed, a proud smile on her face. “A wise beginning. Angus son of Dagda is dying because he killed the blessed king, the All-Father, and sought power that did not belong to him. Thus, a curse from the realm of death was placed upon him, one that was to take effect as soon as all three fae gifts came into the world. You see, Feyre, the moment you were born, the King of Hybern became mortal.”

“What?” I gasped. “He certainly was not mortal when--”

“He is not mortal like a human is mortal,” Macha clarified. “He is still by blood a powerful fae. But his body does not heal like it once did, and he is now subject to illnesses that have never plagued him before. Indeed, there is a poison beneath his skin, created by the Autumn Court, that has lived there since the day he killed his father, but which never affected him . . . not until you and your sisters set foot on this earth.”

“Why us?” I asked, returning to my earlier question. “Why have the fae gifts never appeared before now?”

“Because,” Macha said, “the fae gifts were to appear in three women with mortal blood. Hybern and the High Fae courts enslaved humans and made it illegal to bear children by them--such offspring were killed off at every opportunity. This was true for millennia, until--”

“Until Miryam,” Rhys murmured.

Macha nodded. “Indeed.”

Cold horror sluiced through my veins. “You mean that . . . that all of those humans, for _millennia_ , were enslaved because of me? Because Hybern was trying to keep me and my sisters from being born?”

Macha shook her head sympathetically. “That is too simple a way of seeing it. That was Hybern’s motivation, yes . . . but the hatred between the fae and humans goes as far as humans’ existence in this world. There is no need to blame yourself for that.”

I fought back the impulse to do just that and considered my next question. “Why is the Cauldron clinging to my sister?”

Macha grinned again. “I commend you, Dreamer. Most would waste this opportunity with me. Yet you are wise. The fae gifts are tied to four artifacts that were once legendary in Prythian, but most of which have long been considered missing or mere myths. The Cauldron is the first, and it is from the raw material the Cauldron possesses that the Mother created Prythian itself. But it was stolen by the Fomorians and later won back by Dagda, who broke off its feet and hid it with the Winter Court. The fae laugh is equally connected to the Mother, who was said to create the fae through her laughter--a different tale than is usually spread in nurseries now. The woman who possess the fae laugh can access the Cauldron’s raw creative forces without corrupting it, which cannot be said for anyone else that tries.”

This raised many more questions, but I had to focus--had to choose the most important ones. “What are the other artifacts, and how are they related to our gifts?”

“Listen carefully,” Macha said. “Your second sister’s song is related to the Sword of Light that belonged to Dagda’s predecessor, Nuada. The sword is also a key, just as your sister’s song is a key. If she were to wield it, no door or enchantment would be able to stand before her.”

I trembled at the thought of _Elain_ wielding a sword. The image was strange in my mind.

“The Sword was given to the Dawn Court to protect after Nuada’s death, but it is unclear if they still possess it,” Macha continued. “The other two artifacts are not tied to you, but will become important. The first, the Ash Spear. This belonged to a warrior in Dagda’s court, and it was insatiable in battle--only keeping its tip in the Cauldron could keep it from slaying every enemy in sight. When the Cauldron was broken, so was the Ash Spear’s power tamed, and it was given to the Twelve High Priestesses to protect.”

“Where is it now?” I asked.

“The ambitious young Ianthe gave it to the King of Hybern, and if he can awaken its power, he will never be defeated in battle.”

I trembled and Rhys placed his hand on my arm.

“The final artifact is the Stone of Danann, of which you appear to know much already,” Macha said. “Hybern wishes to use you and your sisters to access the Fortunate Isle where the Stone rests, and then he will kill you. He will place his feet upon it to rid himself of the Mortal Curse and declare himself High King of Prythian. He will destroy the courts and enslave the humans once more, to prevent any with the fae gifts from ever being born again.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth and I felt Rhys go tense behind me. “Is this certain?” I asked. “Is there anything to be done?”

Macha smiled. “Of course there is something to be done, and you are all doing it. Fight against Hybern. Tap into your powers.” Macha’s eyes, the same beautiful brown as Mor’s, rose to face Rhys. “You must ask yourself, High Lord, what you are willing to risk for the fate of Prythian . . . and whom you are willing to call upon.”

I turned my head slightly to see the hard set of Rhysand’s jaw. “What does she mean?” I asked.

Rhys pursed his lips. “The Prison. There are some residents who . . . well, let’s just say if they were on our side, tables would certainly be turned.” The way Rhys said this told me that it was something to ask more about later.

“You do not have an easy fight ahead of you, but you are aware of this,” Macha said. “Dreamer, take the scroll. Only you will be able to read its secrets, and you will be able to access my wisdom when you need it. For now, I must go, but when this war is over, you must return the scroll here, where it can be kept safe.”

“But what if I can’t get back in?” I asked.

Macha chuckled. “You will. Just as with the Book of Breathings, which calls to you because you are Made, this vault opened to you because you possessed the magic of all seven courts. If the seven High Lords could ever work together, they could open it when they pleased. Thankfully, you did not have to wait for such an impossibility.” Macha’s eyes glimmered with amusement. She bowed her head to me and Rhys. “Blessings of the Mother upon you,” Macha said, and then she faded away into nothingness, taking our friend’s likeness with her.

Rhys and I stood in awed silence for a while before I cautiously reached out and took the scroll from the podium. There was no surge of magic this time--it seemed . . . ordinary. But I held it reverently across my palms, and Rhys ran his finger along it. “It appears our efforts have finally been rewarded,” he said softly.

I met his eyes, which shone in the blue light of the room. “I think we have a lot to share with the others,” I said.

Rhys’s hand cupped my cheek. “I agree. Let’s go, love. We’ll find a way to stop Hybern, whatever it takes.”

But as we climbed the many stairs in silence, I couldn’t help but see images of bloodied battlefields and lost loved ones in my eyes, and I prayed to the Mother that they would not come to pass.


	41. Chapter 41

**CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

Lord Helion stared at the scroll in my hands, his expression one of awe. I had explained in detail everything that Macha had told us, and we had all been left stunned by the revelations.

Nesta murmured, “So I can . . . _create_? This power--it doesn’t have to destroy?”

Lord Helion shook his head. “No. It is inclined to do so, since it has been in corrupt hands for so long, but it does not have to be that way. In fact, it appears that its non-destructive capabilities have already been tapped--with the raising of Jurian and with your own Making.”

As though to demonstrate, Nesta pulled a dagger from some secret compartment in her own skin, just as she had done to threaten Lord Devlon. “Could I raise the dead?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Helion’s mouth tightened. “That goes against the order of things. What has passed from this world must not return, else it will return corrupted.”

“Jurian is corrupted,” I confirmed. “He may have been before, but it is worse now.”

“So whatever power of the Cauldron turned me into this,” Nesta said, gesturing to her body, “was not corrupt?”

“It was intended for corrupt purposes,” Rhys said. “But the magic itself was neutral. We never found out what happened to the mortal queens after they went in.”

Nesta snarled, but Cassian said, “Actually we did. Just today. Azriel sent another letter--Lucien succeeded in getting ears into the Spring Court.”

My face snapped to him. “He did?” I asked breathlessly. Lucien--you excellent man.

“Az said the information is coming out slow, but steady. For one thing, we know that Hybern is keeping his promises about Mor.” Cassian’s jaw twitched and a darkness flashed through his eyes that I knew all too well. “As for the queens . . . they did not come out of their Making as whole as Nesta and Elain did. They are alive, and they look like High Fae, but whatever traits or personalities they had seem to have vanished. They’re shells.”

“I would not be at all surprised if that’s entirely due to your ancestry,” Rhys said to Nesta and me. “You all came through your Making successfully because there was already fae blood in you. This was not the case for the queens.”

“Serves them right,” Nesta growled.

“The question is, did Hybern know that?” I asked. “Did he know about our fae gifts, or that the mortal queens would not entirely survive the process?”

“I’m not sure,” Rhys admitted. “I suspect he knew about the queens, but as for what he knew about you and your sisters . . . it’s unclear. Ultimately he figured it out, because he’s after you now. So our present actions need to be planned accordingly.” Rhys turned to Cassian slipping his hands into his pockets. “Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cassian replied, his voice a low grumble. “Azriel uncovered information about Dawn Court’s activities. We had thought they would hold off on their attacks until Kallias decided where he stood, but it seems they will not wait. They will move on the Night Court by the end of the week.”

The rage shot through my blood like lightning, and through our bond I felt the same happen to Rhys. I hissed and he snarled, and neither of us could stop our wings from flaring out behind us or our fingers from curling into talons. Helion pressed his lips together and Aracely flinched before looking us over and adjusting to the new versions of us she was seeing.

“Like hell they’ll move on the Night Court,” I spat.

Lord Helion’s face was calculating and he looked at Cassian. “Does your spymaster know how exactly they’ll move on Night? Is my territory at risk? I will not see fighting on my land--do you understand that, Rhysand?” He stood from his desk and came to stand before it, meeting Rhys’s eyes with burning determination.

Rhysand looked at the High Lord of Day, his nostrils flared and dark fury filling his eyes. “I am afraid that it will be impossible to avoid this war, Helion. Whether you choose offense or defense is your call, but blood will rain on all of Prythian before the summer is over.”

My heart stuttered but I stood my ground as the first sign of Helion’s temper appeared. Wings of his own appeared from his back--only, unlike Rhysand’s and mine, Helion’s wings were feathered with golden and red plumes, and a flame-like glow formed an aura around them. His eyes were molten golden as they stared Rhys down. “Are you threatening me, Rhysand?”

“Of course not!” Rhys snarled in return. “We will not bring our men to fight on your land. But I am not responsible for Dawn Court, and if they come for my people they will almost certainly cross your land to get there.”

“We have fought once before and failed,” Helion said. “I will not risk my granddaughter’s safety and her home for a fight I cannot win!”

“Papa,” Aracely said sharply. “If we fight we might be able to save something. If we just stand aside, then we’re inviting destruction.”

“And,” I said in a low voice, “if you stand by and allow Dawn’s armies to move through and attack my people, your help to this point matters little. You may as well be our enemy.”

Aracely’s face snapped to me, and I softened my expression slightly to convey my apologies--I didn’t want to consider her an enemy. I wanted her friendship, wanted to be able to thank her and her grandfather for their help. But if they would not stand by us now . . . I was a High Lady of Prythian. I had to think of my court first.

Lord Helion did not shift back, but his snarl faded as he looked between Rhys, Aracely, and me. “We’ve barely rebuilt our armies. Your commander knows this. I would stand by you, Feyre and Rhysand, but the help I could offer would make little difference.”

“Call upon Tarquin,” I said. “He may be able to spare some of his armada to defend your coastline.”

“And what about you?” Helion asked. “You have requested my help, and perhaps it is time I insist upon yours. Send me supplementary forces.”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “I’ve already sent Illyrians to Summer, and my forces have taken a hit there--they need reinforcements, too. I can spare a few hosts, perhaps, Helion, but only to fill in what you cannot provide yourself. This is a war for all of Prythian, and I cannot be expected to provide military force to all seven courts.”

“Considering your court is the only one that remained intact all those years, perhaps it’s only fair!” Helion exclaimed.

I snarled and Rhys stiffened as ice-cold wrath filled him. “I made my decisions, Helion, and you made yours. Let us not talk about _fairness_.”

“Yes, we’re all well aware of what _your_ decisions were, Rhysand,” Helion sneered.

A screech of fury began to rise in my throat, but it was cut off by Aracely’s own cry. “Papa!” she gasped, looking at her grandfather with pure outrage on her face. “How could you . . . how could you say such things?”

Stunned, Helion’s wings lowered and he looked at his granddaughter, face crumpling with anguish as he realized what he had implied. “Aracely, dear, you did not have a choice. Lord Rhysand--”

“Rhysand didn’t have a choice, either,” Aracely seethed. “Do you think anyone would submit themselves to that if there was any other choice? Would you rather he had died? Would you rather I had died than survive in the only way I could?” I snatched Rhys’s hand for support as Aracely revealed her injuries to her grandfather and the High Lord let out an anguished moan, clapping his hand to his mouth. “I chose to endure it instead of ending my life--or letting her end it--because I had a world to see. I knew my parents had died for something, and I wanted to know what it was. Lord Rhysand had something to protect, and subjecting himself to Amarantha, mind and body, was the cost. Do not tell me you would not have considered doing the same if it meant protecting all of this.” Aracely gestured broadly at his study, the palace, the city and court beyond.

There was not a dry eye in the room as the princess lowered her arm, let her injuries vanish, and fixed her golden gaze on her grandfather. “You may not choose to fight again, Papa, and I would be lying if I said I did not understand. But I wish to help. I do not want the world to fall before I get the chance to see it. Please, grant me this request, and do what you will apart from that.”

Lord Helion’s shoulders trembling and the wings that spread from his back disappeared. “Aracely,” he murmured, tears streaming down his face. “My dear child . . . I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

“I won’t stay here,” she said. “My freedom has been kept from me my whole life. Please don’t try to take it from me now.”

I felt carved out on the inside as Aracely’s words reminded me of my own pleas to Tamlin so many months ago. The pleas he had so callously ignored. I waited, hardly breathing, to see what Helion would say. And I silently swore to myself to help Aracely escape if he refused her.

“Where will you go?” Lord Helion asked hoarsely. I was about to offer to let her come with us, but Aracely spoke first.

“Summer Court,” she said. “Cassian says that the fighting is still restricted to Spring and Autumn. If I go to Summer Court, I’ll be far enough from the fighting to be safe and close enough to be useful if I’m needed. I know I’ll be welcome there.” She looked over her grandfather once more. “I’ll take Sky and Sol with me,” she said, naming the two young bodyguards that usually followed her and whom she seemed to be friends with.

“I entrusted the safety of my sister with Lord Tarquin,” I said to Lord Helion, softening my voice. “He’ll do right by Aracely.”

Lord Helion took a deep breath, and at long last, he nodded. The relief that surged through me was almost enough to knock me off my feet.

Rhys said quietly, “We need to depart tomorrow to return to our own court and rally our forces against Dawn, Helion.” He turned to Nesta. “It’s up to you, Nesta. If Lord Helion will have you, you can remain here and continue trying to free yourself from the Cauldron, or you can come with us back to the Night Court. The choice is yours.”

Nesta swallowed and looked between Rhys and Helion before fixing her stormy eyes on Cassian, who met her gaze with a burning one of his own. “Your decision,” Cassian murmured, and somehow I sensed that he was referring to something else.

Nesta took a deep breath and gripped her knees as she said, “I want to go with my sister. The Cauldron . . . I’m starting to understand it. Starting to understand what I can do with it. I’m not . . . overwhelmed by it anymore. And maybe I can use it for good things, even if I’m only keeping it away from Hybern.”

I opened my mouth to speak but realized that I had nothing to say. I had made so many choices for Nesta already, and I was done. I couldn’t demand freedom while simultaneously depriving her of hers. Whatever she and the Cauldron had become to each other . . . that was her business to work out. I just had to trust her--not easy, but . . . possible.

“We’ll send the forces we can spare as soon as we rally,” Rhys said to Helion. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done. I will proudly stand beside you in this war.” I thought I might have been the only person who could hear the trace of hurt beneath Rhys’s words, the effect of Helion’s accusations, but as always he pressed past that. He stepped away from me and approached Aracely. He gently took the princess’s hand in both of his. “Princess Aracely,” he said softly, “I don’t possess the words to account for our history and what we endured Under the Mountain. But I can say that you have grown into a remarkable woman in spite of it all, and I am glad that our paths crossed again. You are a gift to Prythian.” He paused and then pressed a small kiss to the back of her hand.

I wanted to fall to my knees and praise the Mother for that one small moment. Rhys, facing down his past with the Princess of Day and choosing to move forward. I stepped up beside him and looked at the princess warmly. “Thank you, Aracely. For everything.”

Aracely smiled softly. “Everyone might believe that Night and Day are destined to be enemies, but I think we can write a new story for ourselves. Starting today.”

Rhys matched her smile. “I like the sound of that a good deal.” Then, he looked to Cassian and Nesta, and to me. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

 _Home_. I nodded and let him take me by the hand and lead me into the corridor. Once we were in relative privacy, I stepped in front of him.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I’m proud of you,” I murmured. I stood on my toes and pressed a single kiss to his lips.

Rhys cupped my cheek in his hand as I pulled away. “I love you,” he sighed, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone. His grin turned wicked as he leaned a little closer to me and said, “What do you say we go introduce the Court of Nightmares to their High Lady for the first time?”

A thrill both of excitement and dread whirled through me. “I think it’s about time they see what Feyre Cursebreaker is really made of.”

Rhys’s teeth flashed. “Oh, and what a show it will be.”


	42. Chapter 42

**CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

It was difficult to sleep that night, but not because of nightmares. As Aracely had said, those had stopped when I had taken the Sundrops, and I’d happily gotten several full nights of sleep since. Tonight, it was thoughts of the future and not the past that kept me awake. Dreading my return to the Court of Nightmares, fearing what would happen when I saw my first battle, and worried about what would happen if Hybern caught us. My mate was my only comfort. I stayed tucked in Rhysand’s arms, feeling his breath caress my neck. His arms held me securely and my head was pressed against his heart, so I heard it when its pace picked up and felt it when his arms tightened around me. **  
**

“It’s a dream, Rhys,” I murmured, kissing his cheek. Without waking, he let out a shuddering breath and stilled. My Prince of Night.

I managed to get some sleep after all.

The next morning, as we were dressing and making all necessary arrangements, I took Rhys’s hand and said, “I forgot to mention it, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react, but . . . would you like to try the Sundrops before we leave?”

He brushed some hair away from my face with his thumb. “Did I wake you last night?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I’m not asking for me, though. They worked for me--took away my nightmares. If there’s a chance they could work for you . . .”

Rhys smiled at me softly and cradled my cheek. “I know this makes me sound like a masochist, but I don’t want to be rid of my nightmares. Not until this war is over, at the very least . . . maybe not ever, unless they leave me on their own.”

“Why not?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

Rhys drew in a long breath. “They help me remember what I’m fighting for. My past . . . the things I was forced to do . . . I’m still atoning for them. And I don’t want to forget them before I can do that.”

I wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to atone, that he shouldn’t punish himself like that, but I realized how important this was for him. And I realized that this had been my mindset when I had suffered through my burns. So I took his hand from his cheek, kissed it, and let him winnow us home.

-

We stood outside the gates to the Hewn City, and all I could think was that I wanted Mor.

The last time I had been here, she had been my rock--the one I’d looked to when the cold and cruel members of the court had looked at me with disdain. She had reminded me that

she had survived, and that I could survive, too.

I was no longer afraid of them. But I missed my friend.

I would do this for her. I would rally armies and bring down the heavens on Tamlin’s manor--everything to get her out. She had waited far too long.

 _Mor, I’m sorry_.

Cassian and Nesta went in first--we had stopped in the house at the top of the mountain to prepare ourselves and found Nuala and Cerridwen waiting. The sight of the half-wraiths had been an unexpected balm, and I’d embraced them both. They had helped both Nesta and I dress, chattering with excitement at the thrill of dressing me for my debut. They had spared no effort on Nesta, either, and my sister looked like a storm in a revealing dress of swirling gray and blue that matched her eyes and the Siphon around her neck--which Rhys had temporarily redesigned into a more dignified necklace clasped around her throat, glamouring away the battle-leather in which it usually rested. Her gown was immodest, though not quite as severely so as mine had been. I could tell she was uncomfortable in it at first, but then Cassian had come in and been halted in his tracks, eyes glued to her. She had smirked, thrown back her shoulders, and strode past him as proud as a peacock.

I had warned her what kind of place this was, but after what she had seen of Prythian so far, I knew she could handle it. Hande herself. And with Cassian beside her, I had no fear for her safety. I just . . . it would be hard to have her watch me in the role I would have to play. It would be worse than it had been before, when we had been aiming for only mild intimidation in the Day Court. Now, however . . .

Rhys and I had gone over everything, just as with the first time. We couldn’t leave any detail undiscussed, because a moment of uncertainty on either of our parts would shake our masks. He had taught me how to wear my power like armor, how to release it enough to make the mountain tremble as he did--it thrummed beneath my skin and out of me as I stood before the doors of the throne room, waiting for Rhys’s cue.

It came.

 _Now_.

I felt their eyes on me the moment I stepped over the threshold.

Good.

Nuala and Cerridwen had worked hard to make me into a queen, and I would not let their efforts go to waste. I paused just over the threshold, allowing the Court of Nightmares to see me in my black gown that was cut in the steep ‘v’ popular in the court, showing the curves of my breasts that Rhysand found so delightful. The skirt was sheer, baring my legs and the hi-cut underthings I wore beneath for a shred of modesty. The sleeves were voluminous bells cinched on my wrists, made of the same sheer material as the skirt. My favorite part of the ensemble, though, came when I moved. With every gesture, every shift of my hips, the fabric glimmered like the night sky . . . so that no one would forget exactly who I was.

Black glitter was swept over my eyelids to form wings on my temples, and my lips were painted dark. The fae angles of my face were contoured and highlighted dramatically, and Nuala and Cerridwen had even painted gold flecks along the edges of my face. They’d told me that they’d been dying for the day Rhysand mated, so they could adorn a Lady--even better, a High Lady. They had placed a crown of golden stars upon my hair and expertly braided my hair around the band, so that the crown was practically sewn onto my head. Dripping gold earrings hung from my ears, but my throat was bare, revealing my collarbones--which Nuala had also insisted be contoured.

I lifted my painted eyelids to see my mate standing on the dais at the other end of the throne room, staring at me with dark pride. Our bond glowed so strong between us that I was sure the entire court could see it. I felt him, holding me by it, drawing me to him, loving me so keenly the bond almost ached within me. _Come to me, my queen_ , he murmured in my mind.

I took a step.

And the mountain shook.

“Bow before your queen,” Rhys said evenly, though there was a dark promise beneath his words that there would be severe punishment should anyone disobey.

Everyone knew better than to challenge the High Lord.

As I took slow, powerful steps across the ballroom, the court bowed before me, most with their foreheads on the cool marble floor as I walked past them, streaming silver and glitter and waves of black in my wake.

My eyes were fixed on Rhysand the whole time, the bond tugging us closer and closer until I was at the foot of the dais before him. He reached out his hand to me and I took it with my tattooed right hand, allowing him to draw me up beside him. My dress swirled around my legs, shimmering with the glitter hidden in its fibers.

Rhys held my my hand and raised it to his lips, kissing my inkstained knuckles. “Welcome to your court, Feyre Cursebreaker . . . High Lady of the Night Court.” In my mind he said, _You tell them when_.

I gave him a seductive smile and returned, _I think I’d like their knees to ache a bit._

Then I grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him.

It was not a sweet kiss like we shared most of the time, but a slow and wild one--open, fierce, one that made it perfectly clear that Rhysand was mine and I was his. Rhys’s hunger rippled through his body and into the floor, causing it to tremble. I pulled away and, without releasing his head or moving my eyes from his, I said, “Rise.”

I did not look at the court as they rose to see me claiming their High Lord, to see him claiming me. But I resumed the kiss, drawing Rhys’s hand to my waist and pressing it there.

After a moment, I pulled away and looked at the crowd, who were all staring at us, trying very hard to seem unflustered. Unimpressed. But I had released the tight grip on my daemati magic and I felt the confusion and awe and disgust rolling off of them. Some of the strongest was coming from Keir, standing at the edge of the room, red-faced, as he saw me raised so far above him.

“I will admit,” I said, “that I am disappointed--though unsurprised--to see the Court of Nightmares engaging in such revelry when war is at our gates.” I kept my voice calm, disinterested, but with a honed edge beneath it that revealed my displeasure. I spoke as though addressing my words to Rhysand, but they were meant for the whole court.

“They very rarely look up from their burrowing and rutting to care about what happens outside,” Rhys replied in the same manner. Our faces were still close to each other, and I could smell and taste him even from here. My hand still held the back of his head. “Of course, we could simply allow the Dawn Court to level the mountain. Then perhaps they would care.”

I smirked as I heard the frightened murmurs ripple through the crowd. “Hmm. Well. I suppose we can allow them one night of fun before the world goes to hell.” I tore my eyes away from Rhys’s and looked lazily at the court. “Enjoy,” I purred.

The music struck up and the people resumed their party, though there was a delightful sense of terror beneath it all, caused both by our presence and by the lazy threat Rhys and I had just issued. My eyes went back to my mate and I saw his throat bob. _I love you so much_ , he murmured through the bond, and he kissed me.

Rough, dominant, insistent--a challenge. This was our dance, our game to play before the Court. And it was a display for me, too--decided beforehand, just as every move so far had been. I was to show them that I was not Rhys’s consort, not his Lady, but High Lady in my own right. So I pushed back against him, dragging his lower lip beneath my teeth, kisser him harder and fiercer than he kissed me. His hand tightened around my waist and my tattooed hand rested against his chest. Even as we kissed, I told him in my head, _Tell me if it’s too much_. We had agreed to everything, but I wanted to leave nothing to chance.

And Rhys said, _I trust you_.

So as I kissed him, left hand still entwined in his hand, I dragged my palm down his chest slowly until it dropped between our hips. I grabbed him--not too hard--by the crotch, and he instantly went hard beneath my hand. My blood boiled in reaction. He sucked in a breath as we kissed and I loosened my grip slightly, but he growled. _It’s good. You’re brilliant. They’re eating it up_.

I tore my mouth away from Rhys, who moved to apply his mouth to my neck instead. I looked with glazed eyes over the court. The High Fae assembled were trying desperately not to look intrigued, not to look captivated at the sight of their High Lord submitting to such a dominant touch from a woman. It surely reminded them of . . .

. . . of Amarantha.

Slowly, I released my mate and returned my hand to where it had been on his chest. I felt Rhys’s question through the bond, though he did not stop kissing me. _There are other ways to do this_ , I told him.

 _Thank you_.

It was difficult to focus on anything as his lips and tongue caressed my neck in slow, languid strokes, as though he had all the time in the world. I already felt my breasts tightening and knew that the evidence was easy to see through my dress. I loved Rhys, but I hated this game. I hated having to share him, or allow anyone else to see these moments between us--or corrupt them into something they were not. Rhys’s touches, Rhys’s kisses, were pure. And they were mine. But I would let the court see us like this if it meant that they would know me, know what I was to Rhys and to them, and know that I was no pet and I was no whore.

I was their queen.

I heard a crash and a string of curses, followed by a small gasp and a thud. My eyes were drawn to the sound and I saw a small wraith, similar to Nuala and Cerridwen, on her knees before a High Fae lord and lady. They sneered at her in disgust. Then the lady slapped the wraith, who gasped and trembled. It was the second strike, I realized. I took in the glass shattered on the floor and the wet stains on the wraith’s dress, and I realized that some act of clumsiness had occurred, though it was unclear if it was hers or the aristos who were to blame.

A third slap, this time from the man. And my blood burned.

“Stop,” I said, not raising my voice.

The man kicked the wraith, who cried out this time.

“ _Stop_ ,” I said again, and I held out my tattooed hand, conjuring a flame of black over my palm: shadowfire--my newest invention.

The High Fae looked at me and their eyes went wide. “She almost ruined my dress, milady,” the woman protested.

The flame grew a little larger as I thought of Aracely, who had been punished by Amarantha for similar things. “And beating her is just punishment in your eyes?” I asked. I did not wait for her answer. “Come here,” I said to the wraith girl.

The wraith looked terrified, her shadowy frame flickering around her. But she dared not disobey, and she stumbled to the foot of the dais, dropping to her knees and bowing. I could almost taste her fear.

It sickened me.

“What is your name?” I demanded, my voice imperious and deep. I realized that Rhys had stopped kissing my neck and was now looking at the wraith with bored nonchalance. He did, however, still hold me by the waist. I wondered if he would guide my actions, but his voice was silent in my mind.

The wraith girl trembled and I saw her struggling to speak. I couldn’t bear it--but I could not break my mask. So I reached for her thinly-guarded mind and murmured, _I am not going to hurt you. You are safe_.

The wraith girl gasped and almost dared to look up at me. “Seren,” she breathed.

“There will be punishment, tonight, Seren,” I said, fixing my eyes on her dark head. I heard the man and woman snicker.

Without turning to look, I cast my shadowfire at the hem of the woman’s dress. She screamed and tried to bat it away, but it burned until it had eaten away most of the fabric of her insubstantial dress. She herself was not burned--but she was left with only scraps to cover herself with. “Oh,” I said, turning my gaze to her. “How foolish. It seems I almost ruined your dress.” The woman’s eyes and nostrils flared in outrage and she pushed her way through the wickedly delighted--though terrified--crowd.

“Seren is not High Fae,” I said, raising my voice so that I could be clearly heard, “but she is no less a member of my court than any of you here. I do not take kindly to members of my court being harmed. I shall respond harshly to any reports of it.”

“Milady,” said Keir, clearing his throat and stepping toward the dais. “If I may.”

“Ah, it’s ‘milady,’ now? Not ‘whore’? Good Keir. You can be taught, it seems,” I crooned.

Keir flushed red at the reminder of my last visit. “Milady, she is only lesser fae. Uncivilized. It is not custom to treat them as though they understand the intricacies of our fine court.”

My eyes flicked to Seren. _I’m sure you could tell me more about the intricacies of this court than anyone in this room_ , I said to her mind, and I thought I saw the corner of her mouth twist up.

I looked Keir from head to toe. “Only lesser fae?” I asked. “I might remind you that it was lesser fae who have saved my life on more than one occasion. Lesser fae who are currently sacrificing their lives to protect this court. Lesser fae who regularly make it possible for you to live these pathetic, luxurious lives of yours. Lesser fae who held this court together while you all got yourself ensnared by Amarantha for decades.” My hand had fallen to take Rhys’s and he squeezed my hand, though his voice still remained quiet in my mind.

“Forgive me, milady, but things are done in certain ways here . . . ways that you may not yet understand.” His eyes dared flick to Rhys, but he kept his head bowed. “Such things cannot change overnight.”

“Many things can change in the night,” I declared, letting my voice ring through the hall. “I think you might all be interested in the things I intend on changing.”

At long last, Rhys’s voice sounded in my mind. _Take it slow. You’re doing marvelously. But leave them curious._

I tightened my grip on his hand and turned my face away from Keir’s.

Rhys finally spoke aloud. “Go away now, Keir. You’ve bored my High Lady. And I will not have my High Lady bored on her first night in her Court.”

Keir scurried off, and I looked at Seren. “You can go,” I said, sounding as bored as Rhys claimed I was. But as she ran I sent her one last message. _Find Nuala and Cerridwen. They will take care of you_. I did not want to leave her at the mercy of anyone who might punish her for my actions.

Rhys gave my hand a slight tug, and he led me to the two thrones erected side by side--where once there had only been one. He gripped my hand and stepped away just enough to stand before his throne as I stood before mine. And as one, we sat.

Together. High Lord and High Lady of the Court of Nightmares.


	43. Chapter 43

**CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

Rhys and I sat beside each other, watching the party for a while before Rhys summoned Keir to give his reports. Neither of us really listened--instead, Rhys traced his fingers along the inside of my palm where it rested on the arm of my throne. _My_ throne. It was still hard to wrap my head around it. Thought I didn’t listen to Keir, I kept my eyes fixed on him the whole time, a feline smile on my face as his outrage slowly built inside him. He was lucky we weren’t getting up to our tricks from last time--though it was certainly on both of our minds.

Keir sulked back into the crowd, casting glares at me the whole time, and I blew him a kiss. His lips curled and I grinned.

 _You’re delightful_ , Rhys purred in my mind. He leaned over in his own throne and licked the skin just behind my jaw. _Take it from here, darling. They need to see I trust you with them. But I’ll be waiting . . . eagerly_. He tugged at my earlobe with his teeth before rising lithely from his throne, drawing all eyes in the room to him. “Behave for your queen,” he said, and he strode off the dais to a corridor at the side, the mountain humming with every step he took.

When he was gone, Cassian and Nesta slid closer to me. “I thought setting people on fire was _my_ trick, sister,” Nesta said, her lips a wry smile. She and I were both aware of the many High Fae eyes fixed on my sister, who was an enigma to all of them--she looked like High Fae, and yet wore a Siphon. And there was no accounting for the power that thrummed from her. Cassian snarled at any who approached her, and her own eyes challenged anyone to lay a finger on her. My sister seemed made for the Night Court.

No one approached the throne, and no one dared raise trouble after my display earlier. So after an hour of supervising the festivities, I sent a tug down the bond and suppressed a grin when I felt a tug in return. I rose and drew eyes just as Rhys had, but people parted for me and refused to make eye contact as I left. Cassian and Nesta lingered, likely to follow later.

I followed the bond through the hewn stone corridors until I reached a balcony in the side of the mountain. It was quiet, and the cool air caught the gauze of my dress and drew it taut around my hips. Why had he led me here?

I found out a moment later when a shadow dropped over me and my mate was suddenly behind me. “I am so proud of you,” he breathed in my ear, gathering wisps of air away from the back of my neck before placing a kiss there. “You were everything I’d hoped you’d be and more.”

My heart swelled and the bond glowed strong between us. “Good to know that you and I can still play together,” I said, leaning into him as we looked out over the sprawling silver and purple mountains.

“As well as ever,” he murmured. I let out a little gasp as he abruptly tugged me to his chest before winnowing us to the house above the mountain. When the world had turned right around us, I immediately tried to whirl to face him, but his arms were bands around me. “Oh, no, darling,” he crooned in my ear. “I’ve been here alone for the last hour, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.”

“How dreadful,” I deadpanned. “I’m sure your clever mind thought of nothing interesting at all.”

“On the contrary,” Rhys said in my ear, his voice husky. “I’ve been thinking over many clever things. But most of all, I’ve been thinking up the most delicious ways to make you moan.” As he spoke, his right hand slipped beneath the fabric of my dress and cradled my bare breast. His other hand dove clean beneath the gap in my dress at my waistband and easily navigated past my undergarments to run a single finger up the middle of me.

I wanted to moan and to arch into the touch, but I bit my lip and restrained myself. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction just yet.”Oh?” I gasped. “Do tell?”

Rhys rubbed me in slow circles, challenging my willpower with every motion. His other hand palmed my breast as he ground his hips against my backside and scraped his teeth along my neck. I couldn’t hold back a slight whimper, and he laughed. “First, I’m going to take this dress off of you-- _very_ slowly. Then, I am going to lay you across that bed and pleasure you until all of Prythian knows what a queen you are.”

He swept me into his arms, making more detailed promises in my ear about his intentions for the night, and when he had laid me on my back, he quickly began to make good on them.

Every. Single. One.

-

The next morning there was a letter waiting for us from Azriel. Information seemed to be pouring from the Spring Court by the hour now that Lucien had managed to get sources inside. By the time we had finished reading the letter, we knew all of the recent movements of the Autumn and Spring Courts and had a rough idea of the numbers that Dawn Court was preparing to bring against us. It was not the best information, but it was something.

“Here’s my question,” I said from where I sat on Rhysand’s lap. We were in our own quarters, the Court of Nightmares forgotten far below, and Nesta and Cassian had joined us. “No one has ever attacked the Night Court before because there are no maps--no one knows what’s here. Not just Velaris, but any of it. How could Dawn Court stage an attack without even an idea about what our territory looks like?”

“The Attor said something about allies in every court, according to Azriel,” Cassian said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know he tried to start weeding them out as soon as he knew, but he may have missed some.”

I heard Rhys hiss under his breath at the thought of traitors in his court, but neither of us was surprised, either. “Why would anyone want to turn over this court from within?” I asked.

“Plenty of reasons,” Rhys said. “Fae hold grudges a long time, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. They’re currently ruled by a bastard and a former human, and despite our power I doubt they’re particularly pleased by it. And these worms will do anything for a scrap of power--even sell their souls to Hybern.”

My stomach, full from breakfast, turned in my gut. How _easily_ people forgot the horrors of Amarantha, who had only been a fragment of Hybern. It didn’t matter how many Sundrops I drank, no matter how many centuries passed . . . I would never forget the sound of my neck snapping as Amarantha had ended me.

Rhys sensed the dark turn of my thoughts and kissed the shell of my ear, brushing my hair away from my neck with his thumb.

“Do we have any idea who it could be?” I asked, though I didn’t really expect an answer. “Do you think Keir would--”

“I would rather not throw names around before we have any evidence,” Rhys said. “Besides, as much as I’d love to crush the minds of the scum who betrayed my court, the priority must be defending the court. I have to uphold my promise to Helion and send him some troops, as well as send reinforcements to Azriel and Tarquin. Cassian, can you head north and go wrangle some Illyrians?”

Cassian gave his High Lord a wicked smile. “Of course. They’ll be itching for a fight, and if Dawn creeps anywhere close to the Steppes it will be a bloodbath.”

“Indeed,” Rhys said grimly.

“And what about me?” Nesta asked. “What should I do?”

Cassian opened his mouth as though to say something but seemed to think better of it--not exactly like him.

“It’s your choice,” Rhys said, and Cassian nodded. “You can stay here and help us sniff out a rat and defend our mountain, or you can go with Cassian to rally more troops.”

Nesta’s cool eyes met Cassian’s, and they seemed to have a silent conversation, though I didn’t think either of them possessed that talent. Rhys had said something about some daemati magic in Nesta, but she hadn’t learned to use it just yet.

“I’ll go with Cassian,” Nesta said. “I rather enjoyed the Illyrians last time. I’ll certainly like them better than the foul aristos here.”

I smirked just as Rhys said, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone say they _enjoyed_ the Illyrians.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked back to Cassian and she said with a smug smile, “They suit me.”

I had to work very hard not to pry. Whatever had been between them, they’d worked _something_ out--it was the only way to explain why she didn’t look at him with daggers in her eyes anymore and hadn’t insulted him _once_ yet this morning. I had overheard Cassian say they’d kissed, but I wondered if they’d done it again? Or more? They were so infuriatingly casual that I could not tell one way or the other.

Cassian seemed to notice my frustration and he winked at me. I stuck out my tongue at him.

“There was one more part of the letter I think you should hear,” Rhys said, picking it up again. “It has to do with Elain.”

Nesta straightened. “Is she all right?” she demanded.

Rhys chuckled. “Better than all right, it sounds,” he said. “Azriel says she accepted the mating bond with Lucien.”

All the air whooshed out of me. “She did _what_?” I gasped as Nesta’s face went pale.

“Two days ago,” Rhys confirmed.

“She doesn’t even _know_ him!” Nesta cried.

“Perhaps she does,” I said, though my heart wasn’t quite in it. “I only have my own experience to go on, and I can’t say that ours was typical.” I shifted to fix my eyes on Rhys’s, which glimmered. I took a deep breath. “Lucien is a good man. He’ll take care of her. It’s because of him that we’ve gotten this far and, from the way he spoke about Elain before ever properly meeting her . . . I know he’ll never let anything happen to her.”

“Or the other way around,” Rhys said. “She apparently gave Cresseida quite the beating yesterday when she implied Lucien was disloyal.”

Nesta and I locked eyes and then burst out laughing. “Our Elain!” Nesta said, smiling wide. “I’ve never seen her properly angry before. And that Cresseida always did get on my nerves. Perhaps being Fae suits her better than I expected.”

“I think it suits us all better than we expected,” I said, “and now we understand why.”

There was a knock on the door and at our answer, Nuala and Cerridwen slipped in--followed by Seren, who in the light of our chambers was even more ethereal than she had been the night before. I could see right through her, though she retained the shape of a teenage girl. I glanced at Rhys and we both stood, though his hand remained at the small of my back.

“Forgive us, Lord and Lady,” Nuala said, curtsying. “We do not mean to disturb. But Seren shared some things with us last night that we thought might be of interest to you.”

I felt Rhys shift beside me, rolling his shoulders as he prepared his High Lord mask, but I nudged him gently. “No need for that,” I murmured. He raised his eyebrows as he glanced at me, but he didn’t argue.  “What is it, Seren?” I asked, my voice gentle but still authoritative. A queen’s voice.

“I . . . well, My Lady . . .” Seren began. “First, I am so thankful for last night. I have no good words. But I remember what you said to me, about knowing the intricacies of court . . .”

“Yes?” I prompted.

Seren swallowed. “I would like to help. Because I do know. I do hear. The lords and ladies never pay attention to me, never think I’m listening, so I sometimes hear things that they wouldn’t like me to know. I have heard things about Dawn Court, people who . . . who do not like you or the High Lord, My Lady. I could listen more and try to tell you what I hear.”

I glanced at Rhys, but he said nothing--and kept his face infuriatingly neutral. He was letting me take the lead on this. “That is a very dangerous proposition,” I said to Seren. “You would be under my protection, of course, but I cannot always be in the Court of Nightmares.”

“I know, My Lady,” Seren said, dipping her head. “Nuala and Cerridwen have told me. And I have always admired Spymaster Azriel. I know he is not here to train me, but . . .”

“I’m sure he would be happy to take a look at you,” Rhys said from beside me. “But you must be sure, Seren.”

“I am, My Lord,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

“Nuala, Cerridwen--will you take responsibility for her?” I asked my handmaidens. “She could give all her information to you, to avoid implicating her by direct conversation with me or Lord Rhysand.”

Nuala and Cerridwen bowed their heads. “We will,” Cerridwen said. “We ourselves have been monitoring a few members of the court in your absence, and Seren’s leads may help us learn who is responsible for bringing in the Dawn Court.”

“The sooner we know that, the sooner we’ll be able to patch up the court’s defenses,” I said.

Rhys nodded. “The war will move beyond our borders--I’m suspecting it will concentrate primarily in the south. We need to ensure that the Night Court is safe before we can focus our efforts there.”

“I agree,” I said. I looked at Seren, realizing that the rest of the conversation was not for her ears. “Thank you,” I said to her. “Your service to this court shall not be forgotten.”

My handmaidens and the wraith girl slipped out, leaving me alone with my mate, sister, and friend.

“That will be perfect,” Rhys said, squeezing my hand.

“I hope she stays safe,” I said, looking at the door through which they’d left.

“We ought to get going ourselves,” Cassian said, jerking his head toward the window. “It’ll take some time to get to the Steppes and I don’t want to lose daylight.” He shook out his wings behind him.

“What--you mean we’re flying?” Nesta demanded.

Cassian grinned. “What, afraid of getting your hair ruffled, sweetheart?”

Nesta scowled. “Shut up,” she snapped. But her mouth twitched. “Let’s get on with it then.”

“Be back as soon as you can,” Rhys warned. “We don’t know Dawn’s timeline. I give them to the end of the week before they strike.”

Cassian nodded solemnly. “We’ll return as soon as we can drag those Illyrians off their peaks.” He took two steps toward Nesta and extended his arms, a glint in his eyes. She sighed and consented before he lifted her up and tucked her close to his broad chest. He made a few short strides to the balcony, and I could have sworn that I saw him kiss her temple before he leapt off the edge and went soaring into the mountain sky.


	44. Chapter 44

I spent far more time in the Court of Nightmares over the next three days than I cared to. Rhys wanted me beside him at all times as he discussed defense tactics with high-ranking members of his court. He said that it was important that I be there, not just because these things were necessary for me to know as a High Lady, but also because they wouldn’t expect me to be sifting through their minds as they gave their reports to Rhys.

Most of the meetings took place in a chamber in the palace of the Hewn City. The walls were carved with beasts and serpents like the rest of the city, and a round stone table was set in the center. Rhys and I did not sit at the table with the officials. Instead, we sat just above them on another set of thrones, side by side and equal in size. I reclined in my throne, the clingy silk material of my dress spilling over me like purple wine, my golden crown perched on my head again. My face was schooled into an expression of boredom as I listened to the lords go on and on and debate techniques, but I was actively examining their mental shields and attempting to slip in enough to find out who among them might have turned us over to the Dawn Court.

My nostrils flared as a familiar scent wafted into the room. Rhys caught it too and cut off the conversation with a single raised hand. “All of you. Leave.” They scattered, not even daring to argue.

Two minutes later, the stone doors on the other side of the room swung open and Cassian and Nesta strode in, hair slightly mussed from their travels.

“Report,” Rhys drawled, keeping his High Lord mask in place in case any had disobeyed his orders to leave.

“Men have been sent to the border, My Lord, but they were too late to be of help to Helion. Dawn’s forces easily overwhelmed Helion’s mountain guard and they have officially crossed into our territory. The Illyrians I sent are on the attack, but there are not enough men to hold off all of Dawn’s forces. The Dawn Court will be here tomorrow, and the Court of Nightmares needs to be ready,” Cassian said, his voice a solider’s, a commander’s.

“Is High Lord Cibrán among them?” Rhys asked, naming the High Lord of Dawn.

“No. He and Lady Uxía remain behind in Guga with their family, to the best of my knowledge,” Cassian replied.

“Coward,” Rhysand spat, and it was more than his mask that filled his eyes with hatred. “How badly are we outnumbered?” he asked.

“It will be a challenge,” Cassian said, “but one that I believe we can face.” His eyes fixed on both of us. “With help.”

I understood his unspoken request. He needed us there to support his men. If High Lord Cibrán did not care enough to fight alongside his men, he would have to suffer the punishment of sending them unprotected to face the wrath of the High Lord and High Lady of Night.

Rhysand summoned his lords back in and had Cassian give his full report. Nesta stood beside him the whole time, her fierce eyes daring anyone to challenge or doubt him. At long last, a strategy was laid out for battle the next day, and Rhysand winnowed me up to our quarters far above the Court of Nightmares.

He paced for a moment, running his hand over his gorgeous but weary face. “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen,” he admitted. “I was foolish. I knew it would. But still . . . I’ve managed to keep fighting off of Night Court land for five centuries, and now it’s returned.” He sucked in a breath and strode to stand at the balcony of our bedroom, his hands braced against the railing.

I stepped up beside him and ran my hand along his arm before laying my hand over his. “It isn’t your fault that there are moles in this court,” I said.

“Isn’t it, though?” Rhys asked, his brow knitted. “I may have kept war from our territory, but I’ve been unable to root out the poison in this court. If I’d done that . . .”

“Stop. This isn’t helping anything,” I said. “We know who the traitors are now, thanks to Seren, and we can go after them at any time. Personally, I’d prefer sooner rather than later.”

Rhys smirked. “We have to wait until after the battle. Their guard will be down if they don’t suspect we know. We can route the disloyal forces on the battlefield before they can turn on us. Then, afterward, we’ll punish their leaders.”

We fell into grim silence as we looked out over the mountains. After a few minutes, I said, “Do you want to go for a fly?”

Rhys grinned and bit his lip as he peered out over the mountains, examining the flying conditions. He had been training me every day since I’d been healed, and I had successfully figured out how to glide on the currents, even if my finer piloting skills still needed a lot of work.

“I’d like that very much,” he said. “The weather looks good. Just let me know if you feel uncomfortable and I’ll carry you.”

I kissed his cheek. “I know.” I used my magic to shift my purple gown into more appropriate flying attire and allowed my wings to unfurl behind me just as Rhys did. Then we climbed over the edge of the railing, hand in hand, and dove off the balcony, snapping our wings out to let the current lift us.

Flying still took a lot of concentration, but I had never experienced anything so wonderful . . . so freeing. It took no thought at all to understand why Rhysand loved it, why it was a precious and private thing to him . . . something I now got to share with him. We flew together on the currents through the mountains, swirling through our territory, our home. Our bond glowed warm between us, but we didn’t speak--only allowed the peace of the range and the wind to calm our fearful hearts.

I lacked the endurance Rhys had, so we navigated back to the house and stood once more on the balcony together. Rhys took one of my hands in his and lifted the other to cradle my cheek. “Thank you for this,” he said, a soft smile on his lips.

“For what?” I asked.

“For being the light in my life,” he said without a hint of irony. “My . . . my lantern in the dark. Whenever I slip . . . whenever the darkness tries to creep up in me, you’re there to chase it away again.” He placed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I have something for you,” he continued, summoning something from one of his pocket realms. He held out two sets of fingerless gloves, similar to the ones Cassian wore to hold his Siphons. He slipped them onto my hands and then gently pressed a panel on their backs. I gasped as armor began slipping out from the gloves, which had become gauntlets. It was just like Cassian’s armor--scaled, heavy, and molded to fit me just right. “Press here for the helmet,” Rhys murmured, indicating a panel at my throat.

“Rhys, it’s . . .” Perfect. It was perfect. “Thank you,” I whispered. That he would give me this, trust me with this, and want me by his side on the battlefield tomorrow . . .

It meant more than he’d ever know.

“Please stay close to Cassian or me tomorrow, if at all possible,” Rhys said. “You’ve never been on a battlefield before, and I’m sure you know from the attack on Velaris that it can get chaotic. The most important thing is to pick a goal and stick to it. Don’t throw your attention everywhere, or you’ll spread yourself too thin to make a difference. If you feel too overwhelmed, or like you can’t press on, _winnow to safety_. I’m not saying that because I don’t think you can do it. I know you can. But don’t be afraid to retreat if you need to. Recuperate. Then strike again.”

“What magic should I use?” I asked. “Is there something that works best on Dawn?”

Rhys grimaced. “Dawn’s magic is . . . corrupted. They’ll be fighting with poison. I recommend using your Day magic to clear the air so you don’t breathe in any toxins. Other than that, whatever you think will be best based on terrain and opponent will work. You seemed to have a good instinct about that in Velaris.”

“What do you mean Dawn’s magic is corrupted?” I asked with a frown. “They’re supposed to have healing magic.”

“They do, but their magic is tied to the rising sun. Without it, their magic begins to fester. The three months Under the Mountain took its toll.”

I had many questions about that, but I realized that this wasn’t the right time to ask them. I pressed the panels on my gauntlets and my armor shifted out of sight. “Thank you,” I said, kissing him. “Let’s get some rest.” I tugged him by the hand inside to our bed, and I curled into his arms, holding him and bracing myself for the battle awaiting us.

-

Chaos. There was nothing but chaos surrounding me.

I crouched on the cold ground, panting for breath, as I took a moment’s reprieve from the fighting around me.

Amidst the towering pine trees and the rocky faces of the valley wall, Illyrians and High Fae fought side-by-side against the Dawn Court invaders. Our first maneuvers had rooted out the traitors within our own ranks, and after some hours of struggling, Cassian had managed to get them dragged back inside the mountain and sealed away for questioning later. It had not come without some losses, which worked against us when more of our attention finally turned to Dawn Court.

I had not known what to expect, truthfully.

There were High Fae commanders, but many of the fighting forces were lesser fae, creatures like serpents and even land-bound crustaceans, claws and fangs swiping and slashing at our own forces. More fearful were the enormous lionlike faeries who could take out a row of High Fae with a single swipe of its massive paw. I had watched as it took seven Illyrians to defeat just one. I had lit another ablaze with my shadowfire, but even that had not done much to weaken it. Several attempts to use my shadowfire against Dawn Court faeries had proved fruitless, and I’d nearly gotten my arm taken off by a crab-like creature who had simply moved through the fire as though it didn’t trouble him at all.

We had cornered the Dawn Court forces in a narrow mountain pass, which allowed the Illyrians to dive from above and snatch smaller faeries, dropping them from massive heights to crush them against the stone mountain faces. It seemed like we were winning.

But something was not right.

As I rose to my feet, gasping for breath and getting my bearings back after slaughtering a faerie like a giant rat, I felt a stirring in my magic--the magic I had gotten from Dawn Court.

_Rhys_ , I said to him through our connection. _Rhys, something’s wrong_.

_Are you all right?_  he asked, even his thoughts sounding exhausted.

_I am, but . . . Rhys, I think the High Lord is here. I can . . . I can feel him._

_Shit._

I started to use my wings to aid my jumping as I scaled the cliffside nearest me. I wasn’t strong enough to take off straight from the ground yet, but I could jump and beat my wings to take me higher with each leap.

I clung to the side of the mountain, feeling the burning in my tired arms, as I hauled myself up over a tiny outcropping of rock and perched there, scanning over the mountain valley and searching for the pulse that had made my magic stir.

My stomach dropped to my toes as I saw it.

From the other side of the valley, _behind_ our forces, marched a whole new host of Dawn Court soldiers, their golden armor glinting in the fading daylight.

The lesser fae had been a distraction.

They were cornering us.

_Rhys! They’re blocking us in!_ I cried.

_I see them_ , Rhys growled. He let out several choice curses, and I watched in awe as he unleashed a curtain of night from where he’d been fighting on the opposite mountain face. He cast it out between the approaching forces and the battle being waged. I did the same, meeting his darkness with mine in the center. Hopefully this would give our army a chance to wear down their current opponents.

I heard Rhys through my mind as he gave Cassian orders. _Send the Illyrians up out of the mountains. Have them circle around to attack Dawn’s rear._

_Be careful_ , I said to Rhys, _that’s where the magic is coming from_. Rhys relayed the message to Cassian, and I watched from my outcropping as hundreds of Illyrians shot into the air, escaping the mountain pass before Dawn Court could fight its way through our curtain of night.

I scoped out a new perch and winnowed to it, taking myself closer to the approaching enemy. The closer I got, the more I felt the magic pounding within me.

And the more it felt . . . _wrong_. Corrupt.

The next good peak was too far away for me to winnow to it, so I stayed where I was and started raining down shards of ice on the lesser fae that still occupied our High Fae forces. I saw Rhys take off from the other side of the canyon and coast through the air, misting whatever winged thing was stupid enough to attack him in the air. I felt for the air current and leapt from my perch, soaring on the wind to meet him and summoning a platform of hardened air for us both to stand on. When he gave the signal, we drew back our curtain and faced the approaching army.

I instantly threw up a shield of air as a wave of poison instantly assaulted us. “What the _hell_?” Rhys spat, nostrils flaring.

The gas cleared, both of us still protected by my shield, and we looked far below us to see the brightest spot in the midst of High Fae warriors. A chariot drawn by massive antlered elk with golden hides was nestled in the midst of the army, and upon it was mountain a tall, chiseled High Fae man with a golden helm, tawny skin, and eyes that were . . .

. . . deep black. No whites. Like holes in his head.

It was High Lord Cibrán.

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to be here!” I cried, feeling ill just at the sight of him. Something--something was very wrong with him.

“So did I,” Rhys said through gritted teeth. “Avoid him, Feyre. I don’t know what has corrupted him, but I don’t want it latching onto you, too.”

“Where should I go?” I asked.

Rhys clasped my hand in his. “Help Cassian at the rear. I’ll help break the assault here.” I nodded, but before I could go, he pulled me by the hand and crushed my lips with his. “Stay alive, Feyre,” he begged. “I love you.” Then he released my hand and took off to rain his fury upon the invading forces.

I leapt onto the air current and snapped my wings out, only flying as far as I needed to land on the mountain face. I was not skilled enough to be able to avoid arrows targeting my wings if I needed to, so I had been relying on them as little as possible throughout the long battle. As it was, they ached from the little use they’d already had. We’d been fighting since early morning, and now dusk had almost come. I tried to take heart from that. In the night, we were stronger.

If only we could make it that long.

I winnowed across the mountains until I saw the flashes of Cassian’s Siphons raining down on the High Fae warriors. I added my stakes of ice and I saw blood spurt from a warrior as the icicle punctured his neck. I stood on the mountainside, raining down ice and spears of night and sending wolves of shadow to ravage their forces. From where I stood, I had a good angle to attack the High Lord from behind. Rhys had told me to stay away, but I was away . . .

I aimed a stake of ice toward the chariot. I was so focused on my attack that I almost didn’t hear the screech from over my head as a massive golden beast swept from the sky and seized me by the arms with massive ivory talons, jerking me upward off the mountain until I was dangling hundred of feet over the sky.

I screeched as I shifted into claws and talons, trying to scratch at the beast that held me. I threw my head back, snarling, trying to get a good look at it. The claws that gripped me were bird like, but I could swear I saw a cat’s tail thrashing behind me. My armor was too thick for the claws to penetrate, but I could not free myself from the grip, and we were moving too fast away from the battle for me to winnow.

_RHYSAND!_ I screamed through my mind.

_FEYRE! Feyre, where are you?_ he called back.

_I don’t--just look for the damned flying lion!_

_Flying . . . what?! Hold on, I’m coming for you!_

The beast that held me swooped over to the far side of the mountain and, when we were nearer to the ground, its claws released my arms, sending me skidding around the stony ground. I swore and scrambled upright the moment I stopped rolling, and though my head spun I was able to focus to where the beast had landed before me.

It was a gryphon. Half eagle, half lion. All lethal.

There was a flash of golden light, and the gryphon before me vanished to reveal a stunning High Fae woman in golden armor, a massive sword poised at her side. Thick brown curls poured from beneath her helm, and her light eyes pierced me, a promise of a swift death burning from their depths.

I was only just able to draw my own sword before she charged at me, a battle cry on her lips. I parried her blows, my training with Cassian kicking in as we danced around the outcropping of rock. The drop beside us was perilous, and though we could both fly--there was a danger to it that neither of us could avoid. “Do _not_ ,” she raged, “attack my Lord!”

I held my ground, but she was powerful. Outrageously powerful. And a shapeshifter . . .

“Who are you?” I ground out as she lunged at me again. I dodged her and rolled out of the way, summoned a shield of air over me as her golden sword cracked against it. Her eyes went wide and she stumbled back as I summoned shadowfire in my palm.

To my utter shock, she dropped her sword and held her hands up. “High Lady,” she gasped, her voice rough with exertion but still beautiful.

“Who are you?” I demanded again, refusing to lower my guard.

She straightened her posture, and she was radiant as the setting sun glinted off her armor. “I am Uxía, mate of Cibrán. I am the High Lady of the Dawn Court.”

“What?” I demanded. “There is no . . . I am the only . . .”

Uxía laughed. “No, you are not. Though it is true not many are aware of my increased rank.”

“I don’t give a damn about your rank,” I said. “Why are you attacking us?”

Uxía’s lips curled back from her teeth. “It is my only hope of saving Cibrán and my daughters.” Her mate’s name-- _Thee-bron_ \--was pronounced with such beauty I could almost feel my own mate bond hum in response.

“How could you possibly believe that?” I snapped. “Take your men and leave my court!” I juggled the flame of shadowsfire between my hands. “Or else I will knock you off this mountain.”

“You will do no such thing.” I saw Uxía’s hand shift into those eagle talons again. “You and I are not different, Lady Feyre. We both fight to save our mates from the darkness that plagues them. We have _both_ made choices, as High Ladies must.” She looked to the sky as a wave of black surged over the mountain.

I grinned at her. “Speaking of mates,” I hissed.

Rhysand dropped to the ground beside me, crouched and preparing to pounce--teeth bared, talons out. He snarled at Uxía, though his eyes went wide as he realized what she was.

He did not alter his position. “A promotion, Uxía?” he asked, spitting out the syllables-- _Oo-chee-ah_. “Stepping in while your mate is indisposed?”

“Do not speak of my mate as though you do not understand, Rhysand!” Uxía seethed. “You both chose your burdens to save what you love. Don’t you dare judge us now!”

“I will judge you as long as you remain a hostile force on my lands,” Rhysand said coolly, rising to stand beside me and assuming a dignified posture. “Leave. Or I will have my men pay special attention to that lovely gold chariot.”

Uxía hissed, her talons clicking against each other. She was outnumbered now, and she had been the one to isolate us.

“Take your poisoned court elsewhere,” Rhysand continued, his own talons revealing themselves. “And when you go, tell Hybern that the Night Court will not yield. Not like you have.”

Uxía shrieked and lunged toward us, but she bounced harmlessly off the shield of air that I had erected around us. “This war is only just beginning, Rhysand,” she seethed. “And I will fight until I am nothing but dust if it will save my family. I had thought you of all people would understand that.”

Before Rhysand could respond, she transformed back into the gryphon and leapt off the mountain, soaring into the sky and letting out a shrieking battle cry--a signal for retreat.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the battle ended.

And we had our victory.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((((NSFW at the very beginning))))

**CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE**

I soaked in the bathtub overlooking the valley for hours that night, until I had to use my magic to heat the water again. Nuala and Cerridwen had provided me with tinctures to add to the water to ease my aches and pains, and after a while they faded to a dull memory beneath my skin. Still, when I closed my eyes, I could see the chaos of the battle as though I were still in the midst of it. I found myself wondering if the Sundrops would keep me from having nightmares about this, too.

And then I thought about Uxía. _Another High Lady_. I didn’t understand half the things she’d said, about allying with Hybern to save her family. The action and the goal seemed inherently opposed, and I wondered what Hybern had told her about the Night Court to make her believe that fighting us would in any way restore her court’s magic.

Then a very small, satisfied part of me thought about how Tamlin had said that there was no such thing as a High Lady.

And now there were two.

After hours of soaking, I felt a hot, almost desperate tug on my bond with Rhysand. I tugged back, sending a worried question to him. I hadn’t seen him since he’d flown me back and deposited me in my rooms. He’d had some things left to manage in the aftermath of the battle.

 _Feyre_ , came his voice down our bond. He sounded . . . aching. Desperate.

_Rhys?_

_Feyre, come to me. I need you._

His voice in my mind was a plea, and I climbed out of the bathtub as quickly as I could, drawing on an opaque robe and squeezing as much moisture out of my hair as I could with my water magic. _Where are you?_ I asked.

_Throne room._

My stomach clenched.

 _Alone_ , he added.

I took a deep breath and winnowed down to him, appearing at the side of the throne room, which seemed so large and empty without the people and the parties. My heart sputtered when I saw him sprawled in his throne, his wings stretched out behind him. His elbow was propped up and his fingers were draped across his face, eyes closed.

He smelled me and lifted his head, and the look of pure exhaustion on his face struck me deep. He extended his hand to me. “Come here, darling.” His voice was quiet, his expression forlorn. I stepped across the stone floor and up the dais toward him, taking his hand. He gave it a slight tug and drew me onto his lap, into his arms, tucking my head into the crook between his shoulder and his neck. He said nothing for a while, just breathed me in and clung to me as though I were a cloud that was going to slip away between his fingers.

“I almost lost you today,” he rasped. “Feyre, I thought I was going to die when she took you.”

I swallowed and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“I would have murdered her,” he continued hoarsely. “High Lady or not. If she had laid a finger on you . . .”

I thought of what he had nearly done to my sister after she had attacked me. And I knew he wasn’t lying. He would have done that for me. “I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m alive.”

He shuddered as a sob broke from his lips. His mouth sought mine, and his hand tangled in my hair as he kissed me deeply, finding comfort in the certainty of it. As though assuring himself that I was still real, that I was still beside him. “Feyre,” he said into my mouth. “My mate . . .”

Those words lit something aflame in me, and I shifted in his lap so that I straddled him on his throne, one knee on either side of him. I cupped his face in both of my hands. “I’m here,” I said. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll make it through this. If we made it through Amarantha, we can make it through this.” Rhys’s hands held my back and he buried his face in my chest, shuddering with the tears he was trying to contain. “It’s all right,” I breathed, stroking his silken hair. “I’m here, Rhys.”

He tilted his head up and kissed the skin on my chest that was revealed by the part in my robe. I moved one hand from his hair and used it to pull away the shoulder of my robe, letting my sleeve fall around my waist and baring my breast to him. He went stiff and let out a huff of breath through his nose as his eyes fixed on it. Then those violet eyes lifted to mine as he slid his lips across my skin and began laying long, sensuous kisses over my breast. Eyes fixed on mine, he opened his mouth and caressed my nipple with his tongue.

I whimpered and he went hard beneath me. I shrugged off the other half of my robe and bared my other breast, and he offered it the same treatment, never taking his eyes off of mine. I shifted my hips against him and he growled, nipping the skin of my breast just enough to make me gasp.

My hands dropped down and began working the fastening of his pants, my mouth going dry at his hardness between us. “Rhys, I want you,” I whispered. “I want you inside me.”

His hands clutched tighter at my back as he growled again, rising off the throne just enough for me to pull his trousers down around his muscled thighs, freeing him.

My desires shifted at the sight of it, and I began to wriggle off of his lap onto my knees before him so I could take him in my mouth, but he held me tightly. “No, Feyre,” he said, preventing me from getting down before him. “I will not have you kneel. Not here.” He swallowed and drew me up onto his lap again. “This is your throne, too. I can’t--you shouldn’t--”

I kissed him. Flung myself against him until he hit the back of the throne and his arms wrapped around me. “I love you,” I sighed even as I kissed him. I plunged my tongue into his mouth and kissed him so deeply I lost all sense of direction--just lost myself in his scent, in the taste of him, in _him_ , my mate, my mate . . .

Rhys’s hands lowered and seized my underwear, tearing them from my hips until he flung them in pieces off the dais. And his hands gripped my ass and tugged me open before sliding me slowly onto his length. I moaned as he filled me and began moving against him with little prompting. Not too fast--but urgent enough to communicate the fire that burned in my blood as the sight, smell, _touch_ of him.

He grit his teeth as I rode him, lifting from his throne to push himself deeper inside me. “Feyre, you _glorious_ \--” His words were cut off as he hissed out in pleasure. One of his hands gripped my backside to help balance me, while the other slipped between us and started working the nerves between my legs.

“Rhys,” I gasped, my hands snatching his shoulders as I ground harder and harder against him. Anything--anything to show him just how much I meant what I said--that I was here, that I wouldn’t let anyone take me from him again, that I would never forsake him. “You’re mine, remember?” I said before a groan broke from my lips when he thrust in me. “And I’m yours.” He thrust again and I slouched forward, my head on his broad shoulder. I could feel my release approaching and I shook as I rolled my hips around him and he coaxed me over the edge with his hand between us. I let out a whimpering moan as I went over, letting him guide me through the last waves, one hand between us and the other rising to stroke my back. He, too, came over with me, and he scooped up my legs and cradled me against his chest.

“Feyre, you’re a masterpiece,” he murmured in my ear. “Thank you. That’s all I can think to say. Thank you.”

“And you’re usually the eloquent one,” I teased, running a finger up and down his long neck.

“Perhaps I don’t feel like I need words when you’re making love to me,” he said, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “Perhaps our bodies do all the speaking we need.”

I couldn’t explain why, but that unsettled me a bit. So I dipped my head back to kiss him and said, “That does not give you permission to stop flirting,” I warned him. “I want to hear exactly what you think of me at all times.”

Rhysand laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. I enjoy watching you try to keep a straight face when I’m worshipping you in our minds.”

I pinched his arm. “Prick.”

“Why don’t I take you upstairs and show you how I can worship you in other ways?” Rhys suggested, tracing a finger over my shoulder.

I nuzzled him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I would like that very much.”

So we winnowed up to the house and Rhys made love to me until the terror of the battle had been banished from our minds and bodies and we fell asleep, holding each other close and daring the world to try to tear us apart.

-

The next morning came the aftermath.

If it hadn’t been for Rhys’s sturdy presence at my side as we sat on our thrones and faced the commanders of our forces, including Cassian, I might have swooned at the reports--at the numbers of men we had lost the day before. Hundreds--more than seemed possible. Lord Cibrán’s poison had cost us more men that we had anticipated. Those that had not been killed as a result of the instant weakness were still in the infirmary, fighting off the poison that rippled through them, keeping them on the edge of death as their Illyrian healing fought against it.

I wished I had enough blood in me to heal them all.

While Rhys handled the logistics, I visited the soldiers in the infirmary with Cassian and Nesta. My sister clung to Cassian more than I had ever seen her do before, and I wondered if it was a result of her waiting behind in the mountain while he had fought. She had asked to fight, but Cassian had told her that she needed more training before she was ready--that the time would come, but it was not now.

I maintained my High Lady persona among the wounded, though this did not keep me from offering sympathies and thanks to those who could receive them. I could only spend so long there, though, before unbidden guilt fell over me--the feeling that these men wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. I knew this was ridiculous, but the feeling still came.

I was spared from spending more time there, as I was informed that Rhys had finished his business and it was time to attend to the matter that had been on my mind for days.

The traitors.

I joined Rhysand on our thrones and waited for Cassian and some of his commanders to drag out the line of traitors from where they had been held. There were five leaders. We had decided to handle them first and leave the other subordinates to the justice system.

I recognized two of the five. The first was the man who had kicked Seren on the night of my introduction.

The second was Keir.

Rhys and I both stared at the traitors with unmitigated disgust on our faces, and the men, bound in chains, were forced to their knees before our dais.

“Who,” Rhys began, “would like to begin the explanations?” His violet eyes swirled with shadows and his hands gripped the arms of his throne, knuckles turning white.

The men remained silent--some out of fear, some out of stubbornness.

“Someone ought to answer the High Lord,” I drawled, “or we’ll make you answer.”

“Let’s start with a simpler question,” Rhys said. “Why would you betray your court to Dawn and to Hybern? Why would you betray your High Lord and High Lady, who so mercifully let you eke out your miserable existences beneath this mountain?”

“I am a High Fae,” spat one man, “of a line going back generations upon generations, for millennia. Our heritage and blood is pure, and I refuse to bow before a bastard and a mutt.”

I couldn’t even blink before Cassian struck the man across the back of the head, a snarl ripping from his throat. My face showed no reaction. The man had not been struck hard enough to knock him out, but he looked dazed as he struggled to stay upright on his knees.

“That’s not even a creative answer,” Rhys tutted. “How can you be sure that you are trading your allegiance to anything more pure than I am? For all your know, Hybern could be a bastard, too. Cibrán could be a bastard. In my experience, High Fae are quite skilled at hiding these little details.”

The eyes of the men before us widened as though they hadn’t even considered this. Only Keir remained stone-faced.

“You look like you have something to say, Keir,” I said to him. “Why did _you_ betray the court?”

“Because my High Lord has refused to save my daughter,” spat Keir. “A whole _month_ has she been held captive in the Spring Court, and you have done nothing.”

I rose to my feet like lightning. “Don’t you _dare_ suggest that you care about Mor,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare, when you shredded her and left her to die on the border of the Autumn Court when she was only a girl. A _girl_. What kind of a father does something like that? And you have the gall to consider yourself civilized.” I curled my lips back from my teeth and bared my fangs at him. I felt a shudder through the crowd.

“She made herself a bastard’s whore!” Keir protested, and I saw Cassian’s hand rise behind his head, too. I held up my hand and Cassian saw it. He slowly lowered his hand, though his red Siphons glowed with the urge to kill.

“I would be careful what you say, Keir. Commander Cassian is standing right behind you, and he would very much like to kill you if I give him permission. Only, fortunately for you at the present moment, I might prefer Spymaster Azriel’s slow, painful method to Commander Cassian swift and brutal one.” I met eyes with Cassian and he nodded once, stepping back. The glow of his Siphons persisted. “I also thought you might have learned not to use that word from earlier this year,” I mused. “How _embarrassing_ to know you once called your High Lady by the same term.”

“I would do it again,” Keir seethed.

I stepped toward the edge of the dais, lighting my hand with shadowfire. “I dare you.”

Keir’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Weak.

I lifted my head to address the court, who had gathered to see the proceedings. “I have been called many names in my life,” I said, loudly and clearly. “Mortal scum. Cursebreaker. Whore. I’ll admit, ‘mutt’ is a new one, though apt.” The dazed High Fae who had used it turned red. “The term I am fondest of, however, is Defender of the Rainbow. Because, unlike the cowards before me, I fought to _defend_ our court, defend what is mine, rather than see it turned over to the vile monsters who wanted to dig their claws into it. That is exactly what I did in Velaris almost two months ago. I am sure many stories have spread since that time.”

I prowled across the dais, eyes fixed on the traitors. I felt Rhys watching me, reclined in his seat with a proud smirk on his face. “You called me a mutt. And it is true. I possess magic from all seven courts, a fact which I think has well made its way around the gossip circuit by now. Unless you think the tales from Velaris were lies.” I stopped and eyed the traitors, fixing my gaze on the first one. “Did you think they lied when they said that I summoned wolves from the depths of the Sidra to hunt down enemy forces?” I raised my hand and pulled water from the depths of a decorative reflecting pool at the edge of the hall, summoning a wolf to charge the man on his knees and halt before him, staring him down with bared fangs.

I looked to the second and third men. “Did you think they lied when they said I froze the wings of the Attors and tore them from the sky?” I splashed water onto their hands and then froze it, causing them to scream with anguish. I turned to the fourth man, the one who had kicked Seren. “You ought to believe my fire, as your wife has already tasted it.” I cast my hand out and lit the edge of his tunic with shadowfire, my heart clenching with gruesome delight at the panic in his eyes.

Then I turned to Keir. “Did you think they lied when they said I winnowed into the sky and pounced upon the Attor?” I winnowed off the dais beside Keir, holding a dagger to his throat. “Did you think they lied when they said I made its silver blood rain down on the streets and then crushed it against the cobblestones?” I caressed Keir’s throat with the dagger, though not enough to actually break his skin.

I winnowed back upon the dais. “A taste of my magic, for all of you, and a warning. Do not trifle with me. Do not underestimate me. I am the High Lady of the Night Court and the mate of the most powerful High Lord to ever walk the earth. Be thankful that my taste for blood was sated on the battlefield yesterday . . . or else I would have you all killed right here.”

“And what is to be our punishment, then?” Keir demanded.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Oh, would you like one?” I grinned at the horror in his face as I let him think he had almost gotten away without one. I tucked my dagger back in the holster at my waist. “Since you seem so keen on rescuing your daughter, Keir, I can think of no better place for you than on the front lines, fighting for her freedom. If Spymaster Azriel lets you live that long, that is.”

“We are not foot soldiers!” one of the traitors proclaimed.

“You are now,” I hissed, my voice low and deadly. “If you are all willing to betray hundreds of your fellow citizens to gruesome death, then I can think of nothing more appropriate than to send you in their place.”

“It won’t matter,” Keir said, sounding far too satisfied for my liking.

I stiffened, and I felt Rhys rise to his feet behind me. “Whatever do you mean by that, Keir?” I demanded.

“The King of Hybern plans to release my daughter soon, no thanks to you. She provided his map, and now he has his key.”

My blood turned cold as I stared down Keir. _His key . . . his key . . ._

“Which key would that be?” I asked, my voice as frigid as the ice I had summoned moments before.

“The king has friends in all courts. So it was no trouble at all for him to gain access to the his key, the one with the fae song . . . Elain Archeron.”

_Elain Elain Elain_

My heart thudded so fast and so hard I could feel it against my ribs.

“What did you just say?” I heard Nesta demand from where she stood just to the side of the dais.

Keir’s grin was self-satisfied and vile. “The King of Hybern has your sister.”

I saw Rhys’s eyes goes wide and his hand shot out to grab mine, but he was too late.

Because in the next moment, my rage burst from my skin and chaos rained down upon the Court of Nightmares.


	46. Chapter 46

**CHAPTER FORTY-SIX**

Tendrils of night surged through the Court of Nightmares, snatching up courtiers and pinning them to pillars, blocking out the lanterns, plunging the entire throne room into blackness. I heard screams and wails as though they were coming from a distant place. Only one thing pounded through my blood as the magic poured out of me.

_Elain Elain Elain Elain Elain_

I was only barely aware of Rhys’s magic flinging out against mine, reeling it in. His voice was small in my mind. _Feyre, Feyre. Breathe. Come back._

I shook violently, but I was not even properly aware of my own body. Only sheer panic and horror ripped through me at the thought of Elain in Hybern’s hands. We had a bargain! He wasn’t supposed to touch her until Solstice!

_Feyre, please. Darling. Control it. Drawn it in._

I jerked as Rhys’s hands held my upper arms and his breath caressed my ear. “Come on, love,” he murmured. He cast out his own magic again and wrapped around mine, slowly bringing the bulk of it back, soothing it, calming it. The light returned to the hall, but Rhys had not managed to gather all of my magic.

All five of the traitors were hovering off the ground, tendrils of night wrapped around their throats. A thought from me, and I could kill them.

 _Kill them_.

I didn’t recognize the voice within me that said that, but the surge of power hummed down my arms, gripping me tight. Someone--someone had to pay for this. For betraying my court. For stealing my sister. For harming Prythian. _Traitors_.

A small corner of my mind became aware that the magic in the room did not belong solely to me or Rhys. My eyes lifted to the high ceiling to see that a thunderstorm had formed within the hall and was rumbling so loudly the mountain almost shook with it. Lightning flashed through the clouds and the crowd screamed. My eyes dragged to my right, and I saw my eldest sister, _hovering_ a dozen feet above the floor, her eyes like the storm itself, power thrumming from her. She and I locked eyes, our wrath matched, and when she turned her eyes back to the traitors, a bolt of lightning lashed down from the ceiling and struck the traitors at the far end opposite Keir. The man screamed, and the lightning surged through the chains around all the traitors, pulsing through them all until their screams were a cacophonous symphony blending with the rolling thunder.

“ _NESTA_!” Cassian roared. His wings snapped out and he launched into the air, fearlessly seizing Nesta around the waist and pulling her to his chest. She cried out and her eyes snapped shut, and then she slumped over his banded arms around her torso.

Her cry struck something in me and I turned my attention back to the singed and moaning traitors, whose skin was blackened in places and who smoked with the aftermath of the lightning. My fingers curled and they began to suffocate, but then Rhys’s voice made itself clearer in my mind.

_Feyre, do not give in to this. This is not who you are. I know what it’s like, what this rage is like, but you need to fight it. Please, Feyre, come back to me. I’m here._

Those two words were like a bucket of water dropped over my head.

I blinked rapidly as though clearing the cloud of rage from my vision, and my fingers went slack, causing the traitors to collapse into broken heaps on the ground. I almost stumbled back, but Rhys’s hands on my arms were enough to keep me upright--to keep me from showing weakness now. I felt I had to say something, but I could not force the words from my mouth.

Thankfully, Rhys was beside me, supporting me at every moment. “That was a warning,” he said. “May you all learn the cost of harming your High Lady’s family. And be assured that next time, she will crush those who oppose her. And I will not stop her.” He snapped his fingers and some guards dragged the traitors away. He wrapped my arm around his and said in my arm. _We’ll get you out of here. Just count with me to ten._

I took deep, long breaths while I counted with him in my mind, and then with a searing look over his court, he guided me off the dais and into the corridor. When we were far enough away, he winnowed us upstairs.

And I broke.

I collapsed onto the couch and pressed my hand to my mouth, though it did nothing to quiet the scream that burst from my lips and the hot tears that poured from my eyes. Piercing keens shattered the quiet peace of our rooms and one hand wrapped around my waist as I bent over myself, trying to keep myself from shattering into a million pieces.

My mate was instantly beside me, sitting on the couch beside me and gathering me into his lap, curling me into a tiny ball and rocking me back and forth, brushing hair from my face and murmuring soothing words into my ear. “Feyre,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, love, I’m here.” He rocked me back and forth, letting me cry as loudly as I needed to, brushing tears away when they stung my eyes.

“I was supposed to protect her,” I wailed, gripping his tunic. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

There was a loud beating of wings, and soon Cassian swept up onto the balcony, Nesta in his arms. He strode across the room but did not set her down--and she did not seem at all inclined to let him go. She looked as stricken as I did. Instead of choosing a chair, Cassian simply sank down onto the floor, cross-legged and cradling Nesta in his lap, one enormous hand stroking her hair, which had tumbled loose from its combs and pins. His wings spread across the floor and some locks of his own hair fell in his face as he gazed down at her. “Nesta,” he murmured. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Nesta’s eyes snapped open and she looked up at him, and despite the bleariness in my own eyes I saw the lightning in hers. She wrenched away from Cassian’s embrace, though not entirely out of his lap. “Who is responsible for this?” she hissed, her voice deadly. She pushed herself out of Cassian’s lap and stood, her arms banding around her own body. Cassian rose in a fluid motion and stood beside her, lingering nearby in case she sought him but not invading her space.

Rhys replied, “I did what I could to search their minds before everything went to hell,” he said. “I didn’t get much.”

Cassian cleared his throat, murder in his eyes. “I just received word from Azriel. He has some details but they’re still investigating what happened.”

“So they really took her?” I said with a gasping breath. “Keir wasn’t bluffing.” The sympathy on Cassian’s face was heart-crushing. “I made a bargain. He wasn’t supposed to touch her until Solstice. We still have three weeks!” I wriggled out of Rhys’s lap and sat beside him, but his arm remained around my back.

“It wasn’t Hybern who took her,” Cassian said. “Azriel says he hasn’t left that blasted manor in weeks. Someone else--someone who was secretly working with him--is responsible.”

“Who?” Nesta seethed.

“Princess Cresseida has gone suddenly missing as well.”

“ _Bitch_ ,” Nesta spat, prowling across the moonstone floor. Her fingers flexed as though she wanted to lash out with magic, but she had exhausted herself in the throne room below. For now, at least.

“How did this happen?” Rhys asked.

“Elain went with Lucien to the Winter Court to treat with Kallias,” Cassian replied. “Cresseida went with them. They’re still not sure what happened, but Elain was seen walking with the princess right before they both vanished.”

“Lucien?” I whispered.

“Going out of his mind. But safe and alive.”

I rose to my feet, clinging to Rhys’s arm as my legs wobbled. “We need to go. We need to find out what happened, get her back--”

“Go where?” Rhys asked. “We don’t yet know where Elain has been taken.”

“I have a damn good idea,” I spat. “But we need to go to Winter Court to find out what has happened. We’ve done what we came here to do. We need to get back and _help_.”

“I should never have left her,” Nesta said hoarsely, stopping her pacing to stare at the wall, her face stricken. Cassian moved beside her, and she wordlessly laid her head on his shoulder, not shifting her gaze.

“Cassian, take Nesta to rest,” Rhys said. “She almost burned herself out down there.”

Cassian nodded grimly and wrapped his arm around Nesta, guiding her to the door to walk her to her own chambers.

I caught Rhys’s look and said, “I know, I’ll rest too. We can--I can wait until tomorrow. But I need to get to Winter Court and find out _exactly_ what happened there.” I paused and said, “You don’t think Kallias was behind it, do you?”

Rhys shook his head once. “That’s not Kallias’s style, and he has no reason to harm Elain.”

“Neither does Cresseida,” I huffed. “Neither does anyone.” I realized I was still shaking and I let Rhys gather one of my hands in both of his. “What are they going to do to her, Rhys?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “We’ll get her back.”

“Do we need an invitation to go to the Winter Court, or is my sister’s disappearance enough of a reason?” I asked. “What do we need to do to get there?”

Rhys went stiff. “I . . . I can’t go there, Feyre.”

I jerked in surprise and looked up at him. “What do you mean?” I demanded.

Anguish crept over Rhys’s expression. “I . . . I can’t.”

“Something like the blood rubies?” I asked. “We can work around that.”

Rhys shook his head. “No. Not like that. Worse.” He drew in a deep breath. “Amarantha made me do horrible things to the Winter Court . . . unspeakable things. I swore I would never set foot there again after that day. Wouldn’t face Kallias.”

I drew my hand away from his, stunned. “That doesn’t sound like you,” I said, unease plunging through my blood.

Rhys ran his hand over his face and turned to sit on the couch again, propping his elbows on his knees. Whatever this was about . . . it was enough to shake him. Badly.

“I’m sure that in the name of Prythian, whatever happened can be overlooked,” I said.

“This isn’t something like stealing a book, Feyre,” Rhys said, his voice raw. “Remember, I’ve told you before. There are things that happened Under the Mountain that are best left unspoken forever. Beyond nightmares.”

“I’ve told _you_ before,” I said, crossing my arms. “You can’t scare me away.”

A small snarl ripped from his lips. “What’s the very worst thing you could imagine, Feyre? It’s worse than that.”

“Rhys . . .” I said quietly. “You’re worrying me. What did she make you do?”

Rhys’s voice was small. “You already know. Lucien told you back in the Spring Court, almost a year ago. The day I arrived to frighten you.” Rhys slipped in through my mental shields and cracked open a corner of memory that I hadn’t visited in a while. Rhys’s arrival, that I had relived many times. But the conversation immediately before that . . .

_“The blight,” Lucien said tightly, softly. “It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen, all gone.” He swallowed. “It just . . . burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything--no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is . . . unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard--though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way--farther south with every attack.”_

_All the warmth, all the sparkling joy, drained from my like blood down a brain. “The blight can . . . truly kill people?” I managed to say. Younglings. It had killed children, like some storm of darkness and death. And if offspring were as rare as Alis had claimed, the loss of so many would be more devastating than I could imagine._

Rhys put my memory back where he’d found it and slipped out of my mind as I reeled back, slamming into the bedpost. “Rhys,” I gasped. “Rhys, tell me you didn’t . . . that wasn’t . . .” The look of deepest anguish on my mate’s face confirmed what I had feared. “You . . . you killed children?”

A dry sob broke from Rhys’s lips as he hung his head. “I didn’t want to, Feyre, I didn’t. But she used me, used my magic. It wasn’t something I’d done as part of the act, not something I even pretended that I wanted to do. But she whipped me. And then held me entirely in her thrall as she ordered me to kill those younglings. Those poor, innocent . . .”

True sobs wracked my mate’s body as he buried his face in his hands, and despite my abject horror, despite the urge I had to vomit, the urge to comfort him was stronger. I curled beside him on the couch and laid my arm across his back, feeling no less nauseous. I sat in silence as he cried, trying to wrap my mind at the true horrors of his past that he had just laid before me.

“I can still see their faces,” he rasped between sobs. “Each and every one of them. Every damn night when I sleep, I see them. Begging me, asking me to save them, even as my own power was used against my will to rob them of life. I did--I did what I could to spare them pain, but their _eyes_ , Feyre.” His voice broke and he fell into sobs again.

“I don’t understand,” I murmured. “I thought Amarantha couldn’t use your magic.”

“She couldn’t. Which is why she forced me to do it. She had us--me--enslaved so thoroughly that she could have told me to slit my own throat and I would have had to do it. It was me who killed those children, Feyre. And I’ll never forget what it felt like to snuff out those lives, and then to look up and see the torment in Kallias and Akihiro’s eyes as I destroyed their court’s future . . . I swore I would never set foot in his court again. No matter what I did to atone, no matter what I gave of myself . . . it will never be enough to make up for what I did.”

“So you won’t . . .” I said softly. “So you won’t go there with me, to save my sister?”

Rhys shifted and sat up to face me, gripping my forearms. The panic and pleading in his eyes almost destroyed me. “Please, Feyre, I’m begging you. Don’t ask me to go back there. Don’t ask me to face that. Face them.”

My own tears returned then and we fell into each other’s arms, lost for words. He drew me tight to his chest and held me, as though I were his only anchor to the world.

And I realized I would never know his anguish. No matter what horrors I had lived through myself, I would never be able to plumb the depths of the darkness that plagued my mate’s soul. But I swore that, no matter how many centuries we lived, I would never stop trying to burn away that stain with my light. I would never give up on him--just as he had never given up on me.


	47. Chapter 47

**CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN  
**

I couldn’t sleep that night. Didn’t dare to close my eyes. Every time I tried, I saw my mate standing in the cold, a pillar of black in the midst of white snows, the blood-red hair and gown of Amarantha beside him. The wicked queen was smiling as he ended the lives of innocents, evil delight in her eyes at the sounds of their pleading.

I knew he wasn’t sleeping either, though his eyes were closed. I knew, because when I sought his hand beneath the sheets and gripped it, he squeezed back.

The next morning, we ate breakfast in silence, unable to form words or thoughts enough to address everything that had happened the day before. All I could think about was my sister and what was happening to her. What had they done? Was she poisoned like the soldiers downstairs? The thought of Elain suffering like that . . .

I only nibbled at my breakfast. Every time I managed to get something down my throat it burned when it touched my stomach. Eventually I stopped trying.

“Please eat,” Rhys said softly, though he’d hardly touched his own food.

“I can’t,” I breathed. He just nodded and didn’t ask again, his eyes dark and glazed. “Tell me about Dawn,” I said. I couldn’t--I needed words to fill the air to distract me from the awful thoughts haunting me. “What was Uxía talking about?”

Rhys understood my need for distraction and said, “Cibrán was High Lord before Amarantha. I never had much contact with him--never needed to. He became High Lord after the War, where his brother died. He and Uxía met and mated after that. They have three daughters: Iria, Léocadia, and Maristela. Again, I don’t know them well. The most I know is that Cibrán was tricked by Amarantha, but when her machinations became clear, he sided with her to ensure that his court did not have to live Under the Mountain.”

“To keep the magic from being corrupted?” I asked.

“It seems so.”

“But it was corrupted anyway.”

Rhys nodded tersely.

“Uxía seemed fine.” No sign of poison had come from the High Lady.

Rhys shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure what they did. How she got out unscathed--by all accounts she should have been corrupted, too. I can’t decide if I’m glad she wasn’t or not.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Cassian and Nesta came in. My sister looked like as much of a wreck as I was, and when we locked eyes, I knew our thoughts and feelings were the same. Hybern would die--slowly and painfully--for taking the one good and pure thing out of our lives. We hadn’t protected her. But we could sure as hell save her. And we’d tear apart the world to do it.

“When are we going?” Nesta asked immediately.

Cassian sighed. “Hold on, sweetheart. I . . . I got some news.” He held up another letter, and it was then that I could see he was as exhausted as the rest of us. Perhaps he’d stayed up writing back and forth to Azriel all night. “Hybern is moving on us.”

“What!”

Rhys and I shot to our feet, but I instantly became dizzy and sank down again, gripping the edge of the couch with white knuckles. “How?” I rasped. “He promised . . .”

“Not to attack the mortal realm,” Cassian said. “He never promised anything regarding our court.”

I cursed and clutched my forehead. “When?” I asked. Tears started to fill my eyes. I couldn’t . . . it was too much. My sister, my court . . .

“In a matter of days,” Cassian said. “I already have Illyrians stationed all around Velaris and the western coast, since we’ve been anticipating an attack there. But the numbers he’s sending are still uncertain.”

I curled my knees up to my chest, staring at nothing as this news rattled through my bones. I suddenly felt small--so small, in the face of this war.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Soon Rhys said, “Thank you, Cassian. I need a chance to think. We’ll see you both at lunch.”

Nesta opened her mouth to argue, but Cassian put a hand on her arm and jerked his chin, leading her away.

I was drowning. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The plate of breakfast food blurred in front of my eyes, turning into spinning colors that I was too nauseous to think of painting.

A shadow fell over me. “Feyre,” my mate breathed, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” I choked. “My sister . . . Rhys, I need to save my sister!”

“I know. We will.” Rhys knelt beside me and his hand moved to my knee. “But our court needs us right now. The moment we’re secure, we’ll go after her.”

A gaping hole opened up in my stomach as I snapped my eyes up to look at him, my face hot. “We’ll never be secure,” I said, my voice raw. “After this battle, there will be another, and another, and while we fight my sister is in Hybern’s hands, probably being tortured--” I clapped a hand to my mouth and tears came spilling from my eyes. I choked back my sobs and said, “Rhys. Please. _Please_. Let’s go. Cassian can handle--”

“No, Cassian can’t,” Rhys said. “If he had Azriel and Amren, maybe. But on his own . . . so recently healed . . . I can’t send him in alone.” Rhys gathered my hands in his. “You know I want to give you everything. If I could reset the world and keep you from ever hurting again, I would. But there are innocent people that we are sworn to protect. We can’t leave them now.”

“My sister is innocent,” I whispered. “It’s my fault she’s in this mess and I need to get her out.”

“We _will_ ,” Rhys swore, gripping my knee tighter. “We aren’t going to abandon her.”

“That’s what we said about Mor,” I said. “And we haven’t gone back for her.” Keir was right--that vile bastard was right. It had been a month. And we hadn’t tried to save our friend.

Rhys’s eyes widened and he drew his hand away. I stood and began to pace, arms folded across my stomach. Rhys said nothing, just watched me, his face unreadable.

“Let me go,” I finally said, stopping to look back at him.

A ripple of shock passed over his face. “What?” he gasped.

“You stay here. I’ll go for Elain.”

Rhys’s brow furrowed. “Alone? Feyre!” he said, outraged.

“I need to. Rhys, I _need_ to go.”

“And I need you here.” His hands splayed out at his sides and his voice was breaking. “Feyre, I--I need you by my side. Please, we’ve been apart and--”

“And we can do it again,” I said. My pulse pounded in my temple and I dried to breathe deep to alleviate it, but I couldn’t calm down enough to do it.

Rhys’s hands curled into fists. “Feyre, these are your people, too. You’re the High Lady now. You have a responsibility to your court!”

“I have a responsibility to my family first!” I argued, my voice rising in volume.

Rhys gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he drew in a breath. “Feyre, I know this isn’t easy. Believe me, I know. But you can’t sacrifice your entire court just for one person--”

I gasped and stumbled back, hurting flashing in my eyes. “She’s not--she’s not just _one person_ , Rhysand! She’s my sister!”

Rhys’s face went slack as he seemed to realize what he’d said. “Feyre, I didn’t mean--” He cursed under his breath and strode over to me, crushing me into his arms. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t return his embrace. “Let me go, Rhys.”

I felt his breath catch in his throat. “You could be killed.”

“I could be killed here, too. We’ve both known that for a long time now.”

Rhys whimpered--actually whimpered--and sank to his knees before me. He pressed his forehead to my abdomen and held my hips. “Feyre. Darling, please. I’m begging you. _Don’t leave me_.”

It was as though he had stabbed me. Begging. My mate was _begging_ me. As he had last night. This Prince of Night, the most powerful High Lord in history . . . on his knees, pleading with me.

But how could I yield? How could I abandon my sister to Hybern’s torments when it was my fault she was facing them? My fault . . . she didn’t deserve this, and she’d been taken because I hadn’t been there for her. I had let her down, and now I had to make it right. Rhys--I’d thought he would understand.

“If it were your sister . . .” I said quietly, “. . . if it were Aderyn . . . wouldn’t you go?”

Rhys sucked in a sharp breath and went stiff. He snatched his hands away and looked up at me with wounded violet eyes.

And I knew I had gone too far.

But I couldn’t take it back.

I stayed silent as Rhys rose to his feet, his breath ragged. We stared at each other in terrible silence. Our bond felt still and dead between us. Still there, but--limp. Injured.

“Go,” Rhys finally said. “Save Elain.”

“Rhys,” I breathed.

With hard eyes, he stepped toward me and kissed me on the brow. His lips were cold. “Stay safe.”

Then, before I could say another word, he ripped away from me, strode to the window, and leapt off the balcony into the open air. Flying away--away from me.

And I didn’t blame him.

-

Two hours later, Rhys returned, his face closed off and cold, but he didn’t give me the chance to speak before he held his arms out to me and Nesta and winnowed us to the Summer Court. Feeling hollow, I turned to face him, but the words died on my tongue. He didn’t meet my gaze. “Come back to me soon,” was all he said before he vanished into shadow and wind.

I stared at the emptiness he’d left behind for a long minute, hollow silence filling my ears.

I flinched when Nesta laid her hand on my arm. I looked at her and she swallowed before jerking her chin to the yard beside us, where Varian was approaching, looking grim. “Welcome back, Lady Feyre,” he said with a respectful nod. “Lady Nesta.”

We followed him back to the manor in silence. My throat was like a desert. I couldn’t begin to ask questions or make demands. The summer air was so thick--I immediately longed for the mountain air of my home, longed for my mate.

Rhysand.

What had I done?

I had regretted the words as soon as they had passed my lips, but I had been unable to come up with anything to make them better. And the coldness of his kiss . . . I could still feel it on my skin. As distant as a stranger’s kiss.

My heart ached in so many ways and I couldn’t stop it.

We declined the offer to take time to rest and immediately went to the study. There was an alarmingly small number of people there.

“Where is Lord Tarquin?” I asked, my voice coming out sharp.

“He had to go to Adriata to address some issues in light of my sister’s . . .” Varian didn’t finish the sentence, and if I hadn’t seen the shame in his eyes I might have lashed out at him. But it was obvious that he’d had nothing to do with it, despite how close he and his sister had appeared to be. “He should be back by dawn,” Varian added.

“High Lady Feyre,” said a man I didn’t recognize. He approached me and bowed respectfully, his thin black hair dropping onto his brow. The air chilled around him, and I realized that he had to be from Winter. “My name is Prince Masaru of the Winter Court. I am here on behalf of my uncles to aid in the search for your sister.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance. Am I to understand that Winter Court is now our ally?”

Masaru stood straight and looked me in the eye. “We are allies insomuch as we oppose Hybern as you do. And we are friends of Elain and Lucien.” There was more in his eyes, but I nodded my understanding. He could not call my court an ally . . . not after what Rhys had done. “We have forces lingering at the border in case there is an attack on Summer, and we are moving to intercept Dawn as they move through our territory.”

“Your efforts are appreciated,” I said softly.

“Lady Feyre?”

I turned to see none other than Aracely entering the room from behind me. She approached me and hugged me warmly before drawing back. “It is so good to see you.” Her brow furrowed just slightly as she read the sadness in my face. “I am sorry about your sister.”

“We’re getting her back,” Nesta said firmly.

“Where exactly is the rest of my court?” I asked, looking around and noticing a remarkable lack of Azriel and Amren, let alone Lucien.

Varian shifted his stance and cast his eyes away. Masaru’s mouth fell into a flat line.

“Well?” I demanded.

Aracely squeezed my hand. “They’re gone, Feyre. They . . . they’ve gone to rescue Elain.”

I ripped my hand away from Aracely’s, my face going white as the word hit me like a slap. “They . . . they’ve done _what_?”

“They didn’t tell anyone,” Varian said tightly. “I last saw Lucien last night going to visit Azriel, and by this morning they were gone, along with your Second.”

My voice dropped low and even as the fury turned my blood to ice. “They went in, without telling me? Telling _anyone_? They’re just . . . storming in there, with no plans, no backup--” I choked on the rage surging through me and I began to shake. The _idiots_. Underneath my wrath I was wickedly pleased that they had gone after my sister, but in doing so they had also put at risk most of the people I loved in this world. I knew they were all powerful, all incredibly capable, but . . . it infuriated me that they would do it without telling me. I was their High Lady, not to mention their friend.

I thought . . . I thought that I would matter to them.

“What are they walking into?” I said in a hoarse whisper.

Varian grimaced. “Autumn Court forces and Hybern are stationed all around the manor and are spread out between there and the wall.”

“Dawn Court is moving through as well,” Masaru added. “My uncle’s forces will be able to hinder them but not stop them. They’re currently fighting on the eastern front and will move through Autumn Court by the end of the tomorrow. Then they’ll add reinforcements to Hybern.”

I swore. My friends would be locked between two enemy armies. “I have to go after them,” I said. “Cassian’s men are fighting in the Night Court, but as soon as possible he’ll send more. I’ll take what we have and get them all out.”

“How do you expect to command the Illyrians?” Varian asked disdainfully. “They barely listened to Azriel.”

I snarled and my wings flared out, causing all but Aracely and Nesta to flinch. “I am their High Lady,” I growled. “They will listen to me or face the consequences.”

Lightning sparked at the tips of my sister’s fingers as she looked coolly at Varian. “I’m the consequences.”

I glanced at Nesta gratefully and she smirked at me.

Just then, a cluster of guards came bursting into the room from the corridor, their eyes wide and panicked. “Captain! Your Highnesses,” one of them said frantically. “There are troops moving in from the southwest--Hybern and Spring. They’re coming for the manor.”

Varian drew his sword. “How many?” he demanded.

“Two thousand.”

Varian let out a long string of curses. “Get the lesser fae who don’t wish to fight into the forest for safety,” he barked. “Round up everyone else, including your blasted Illyrians.” Varian strode across the room, pausing beside me long enough to say, “Hell of a time for your spymaster to abandon his post.”

I locked eyes with him and bore my teeth as I activated the armor Rhys had given me, allowing it to spread over my whole body as Varian watched. “What my spymaster has done is done,” I hissed. “But now you have the High Lady of the Night Court here. And she is in the mood for vengeance.”

Varian grunted and took off, and I turned to take Nesta’s hand. “Are you with me?” I asked her. She hadn’t been put to the test in battle yet, but she was powerful--so powerful. And we were outnumbered.

Nesta squeezed my hand back, her eyes blue fire. “Until the Mother takes us home.”

Her oath struck me deep and I sucked in a breath. “For Elain,” I breathed.

Nesta nodded.

“For Elain.”


	48. Chapter 48

**(Read:[Part I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144115876177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-acotar-fanfiction) | [II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144124519697/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-2) | [III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144152954117/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-3) | [IV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144176149972/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-4) | [V](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144203314722/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-5) | [VI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144222504032/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-6) | [VII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144264352147/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-7) | [VIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144302176872/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-8) | [IX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144325720827/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-9) | [X](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144410042437/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-10) |[ XI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144428856987/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-11) | [XII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144467772597/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-12) | [XIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144482791492/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-13) | [XIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144509793857/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-14) | [XV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144526296177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-15) | [XVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144533307437/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-16) | [XVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144584399442/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-17) | [XVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144607436172/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-18) | [XIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144673004487/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-19) | [XX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144715387742/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-20) | [XXI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144773109822/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-21) | [XXII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144785440592/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-22) | [XXIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144816733887/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-23) | [XXIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144863502432/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-24) | [XXV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144888533932/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-25) | [Nessian I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144913287592/grounded-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XXVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144963486847/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-26) | [XXVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144984949272/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-27) | [XXVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145072450137/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-28) | [Elucien I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145099706367/sweet-silences-an-elucien-one-shot) | [XXIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145114532512/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-29) | [XXX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145127970987/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-30) | [XXXI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145152836252/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-31) | [XXXII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145184519872/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-32) | [XXXIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145232278172/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-33) | [XXXIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145269140532/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-34) | [XXXV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145311446732/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-35) | [Elucien II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145363343567/blooming-an-elucien-one-shot) | [XXXVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145382583167/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-chapter-36) | [XXXVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145430517822/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-37) | [XXXVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145480855907/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-38) | [Nessian II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145522306062/compelled-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XXXIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145683683257/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-39) | [XL](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145732028177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-40) | [Feyrhys I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145636643992/dust-sweat-stars-a-feyrhys-one-shot) | [XLI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145873146517/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-41) | [Elucien III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145824111612/unspoken-memories-a-elucien-one-shot) | [XLII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145908707692/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-42) | [XLIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145967346467/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-43) | [Elucien IV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146019471037/frozen-bridges-an-elucien-one-shot) | [Nessian III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146127383677/thunderstruck-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XLIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146130077327/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-44) | [XLV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146186599787/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-45) | [XLVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146236742567/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-46) | [Elucien V](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146286090682/frost-and-fire-an-elucien-one-shot) | [Azriel I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146313090767/shadowfire-an-azriel-one-shot) | [XLVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146379184672/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-47) | [XLIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146473763722/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-49) ** ) **  
  
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT  
**

I climbed up to the roof and spread my wings, leaping off the ground and beating my wings until I hovered over the top of the summer manor. It took a lot of focus on effort, but I was determined to see the incoming forces--to know what we were dealing with.

More Attors--I could see them flying toward us from the southwest, their ugly forms sullying the warm Summer sky. Below them, rows upon rows of lesser fae, beastly, monstrous . . .

* * *

 

I turned in the sky and looked for Varian’s forces. There was a cluster of Summer soldiers, a few hundreds, to the west of the manor, and to the north there was a similar force of Prince Masaru’s men. Whether or not there were more waiting in the forest, I couldn’t tell. Crowds of lesser fae and civilians bolted for the trees, trying to find safety before the onslaught arrived.

I swept down through the air and beat my wings to propel me through the air toward the Illyrian camps, but I reeled back as I saw that they were already shooting into the air like black arrows, arcing through the sky toward the approaching Attors with relentless bloodlust in their forms. Satisfied that they would handle the aerial front, I twisted and glided back down to the earth between the manor and the forest. I landed near Nesta and Varian.

“The Illyrians are moving,” I told him. “They’ll take out the Attors and the rest of the aerial forces. Where do you want us?”

Varian blinked in surprise. “You’re asking me?”

“This is your court--your territory. Where do you need me to help?”

Varian nodded. “Near the lake to the south. It will slow them down and we should be able to thin them out before they get here. Tarquin has already been notified and he is on his way. He’ll be here as soon as possible. I’ll send men to support you.”

“Let’s go,” I said to Nesta. I held out my hand to her and she took her, and together we winnowed to the edge of the lake a few miles from Tarquin’s manor. It was nearer to the fighting, and I realized that we would be the next line of defense after the Illyrians. I scoped out the terrain, and smiled darkly at the lake that spread before me. I held out my hand and the surface of the large lake trembled.

“Feyre, I have an idea,” Nesta said, placing a hand on my arm. “Water conducts lightning.”

Her idea hit me and my smile widened. “Excellent,” I said.

“Just watch my back,” Nesta said. “My focus isn’t the best when I’m storming.”

“I’ve got you,” I assured her.

Nesta stepped back from the surface and started to let her own magic mingle with the Cauldron’s magic--though at this point I could hardly tell one from the other anymore. Steadily, she rose into the sky, needing no wings or wind, just power. The air grew thick around her and she tapped into the ever-present humidity of the Summer Court air. Overhead, storm clouds began to form, and thunder rippled.

The horde of faeries began to approach, their swords drawn, and I drew my own sword, though I planned to use my magic more than anything.

The Summer Court faeries behind us charged, pouring around the edges of the lake to form a living wall at either side. Swords clashed and magic pulsed, and I waited for my sister to gather the most of her magic and give me the signal.

A terrible flash of lightning crashed into the surface of the lake, charging it as I drew the waters forth with my magic, sending electric wolves, hawks, snakes, bears, and lions out of the surface of the water to assault our enemies.

I heard the screams as the animals hit their opponents, leaving them to cook in their metal armor as the lightning surged through them. The storm clouds spread over the sky until the sun was blocked out and the firmament roiled with gray and black. Nesta struck the lake again and I sent another wave of beasts, and she sent smaller strikes into the enemy forces in random intervals--unpredictable.

Some of the enemies seemed unaffected by the lightning, and I began to summon swirls of wind and water to knock them off their feet, freezing them onto the grass while Varian’s soldiers plunged their swords through them. A group of soldiers had gathered around me to defend me and my sister while we lashed out with our magic. Thick sheets of rain cascaded from the sky, and the earth trembled as a particularly strong surge of lightning struck the earth over a mile away. Grass burned, and I reached out with my fire magic to send it spewing over the enemies. It was not as strong as my water magic--our location in Summer still caused my water magic to react with greater force. Besides, the rain was putting out the flames before I could do much damage.

The storm intensified. “Nesta!” I called over the rain. The wind was whipping too much for me to able fly up to her. If she kept storming, she would start causing harm to our side as well as our enemies. I shrieked as I saw a winged faerie careen through the sky, aiming for my sister, but I shot it out of the sky with a spike of ice. _Nesta!_ I tried again, using my daemati magic to try and reach her mind. But her shields, her mind, was as unsettled as Jurian’s had been. I couldn’t find a way in--couldn’t tell what was in and what was out.

My sister had become the storm.

I spread my wings, preparing to launch despite the storm. I had to get to her--had to get her out of the sky. She’d lost focus, needed to stop . . .

As I snapped my wings out, the force of the wind dragged me back. I knocked into a few soldiers and my wings jostled painfully. I tucked them back in with some effort, and decided that I needed another way to get to her. I abandoned my use of fire and water and focused only on my air magic, setting up invisible steps of hardened air.

Chilly rain smacked against me, soaking my hair and face as I ran up, up through the sky to my sister.

“Nesta!” I called when I had reached her. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. “Draw back!”

I screamed when a twisted tunnel of air descended from the storm cloud and touched the lake, drawing up columns of water and pulling leaves and trees and bodies from the shore. I could feel it tugging at me, at us. “Nesta!” I shrieked. No--I wouldn’t let this happen. Wouldn’t let the Cauldron take her over again. I gripped her tight and pushed my magic out and into her, reaching for the invisible Cauldron that held her in its sway.

Time slowed as my magic collided with the ancient force. I could hardly feel the wind and rain--I was focused solely on the enchantments that bound my sister.

 _I am the Fae Oath_ , I said in my mind as my magic pushed against the ancient relic. I felt it respond to me, reeling away as though trying to evade me. _Release her. Release my sister. What I speak is what shall be. You shall not have my sister._

Something like a purr rippled through me. _But she is so delicious._

 _No!_ The Cauldron sounded like the Book in my mind. _She shall use_ you _, not the other way around. Release her!_

 _Will you protect me then, Oathmaker? Who then shall be my master? Will you break me and hide me away as they once did, or will you taste my power for yourself?_ I could feel it licking at my consciousness, tasting me, as though it wanted to latch onto me as well.

 _Do not dare to tempt me_ , I warned. _Or you shall once again be broken. Yet--if you return to your origin, return to neutrality . . . you can continue to exist._ As I spoke I searched through the tangled web of enchantments that bound the artifact to my sister, the one that Lord Helion had done a great deal of work to unweave but had been unable to cut away entirely.

 _Who are you to say such things?_ the Cauldron hissed.

_I am the Fae Dream, the Fae Oath. I could unravel the world if I pleased._

_Destroy me and you destroy the world._

_Do not distract me!_ My own voice was sharp in my mind. _Release her, now, by the ancient oaths and laws that brought you into being. By the Mother’s wisdom and by the Otherworld from which you came, I order you to release her!_

I lashed out with my magic, thinking of cutting, slicing, ending, removing. Something like a scream seared through my mind, and with a lurch, I was ripped out of that between-place where my magic had met the Cauldron’s, and I was back in the heart of the storm with my sister, who slumped into my arms. The funnel drew back into the sky, the lightning ceased, the rain stopped, and the dark clouds peeled away from the heavens. My own magic wavered, as though every last bit I possessed had gone into severing the binds between my sister and the Cauldron. I held her close to me even as we careened out of the sky. I snapped out my wings and cried out as the air hit them--it was like running into a wall. I flinched so much that my wings faltered, and we kept falling, falling--

Until we hit a soft pillow of air only a meter from the ground.

I let out a wild sound of relief as I tucked my wings back in and struggled to right myself. The battle still raged around us, but Nesta and I were being held just above the ground by air magic that wasn’t mine. I looked around and gasped when I saw Aracely standing thirty yards away, her hand outstretched and a look of pure concentration on her face, her clothes soaked and her beaded braids snapping in what remained of the storm winds.

She lowered us to the ground and I supported Nesta against me. My leg jostled against something solid, and I gasped when I saw the Cauldron--its maw wide and ugly--on the grass beside us. I sucked in a breath and watched as the air shimmered around us and it vanished. It was still present--I could feel it as though it were in my pocket . . . lurking, but not attached. Not to me and not to my sister.

The brief reprieve ended and my eyes widened in horror as a brutish lesser faerie charged toward Aracely and knocked her off her feet. She sprawled in the mud at the edge of the lake and screamed. She held up a shield of air around herself and curled up tight as the monster pounded against it.

“Aracely!” I cried, trying to get to her even as I still held Nesta. The mud sucked my feet into the earth and I tried to winnow, but I was still too weak.

The monster shattered Aracely’s shield and lunged for her, but in the next moment, a towering figure in iridescent blue and silver armor summoned a jet of water from the lake and sent the beast flying away from Aracely. My heart went still as this new figure whirled around, making himself a shield between the girl and the battle as several other lesser fae prowled near. He drew a massive two-handed sword and decapitated a froglike monster that came too close. Ribbons of water lashed through the air, sending more rolling across the ground until they decided on an easier target and ran off to another part of the battle.

In the lull, the towering sapphire knight turned and removed the sharp, angled helmet that had concealed his features.

Lord Tarquin.

Tarquin extended his hand to Aracely, who flinched away. “It’s all right,” Tarquin said in his smooth voice, his eyes glimmering. “I won’t hurt you.”

Still fearful, Aracely’s gold eyes meet Tarquin’s blue ones, and her mouth fell into a small ‘o’ at the beauty of him. Something rippled over his face as well as she took his hand, and his eyes went wide. He pulled her up against him and held her close to him even as she slipped in the mud, a look of wonder on his face.

“Lord Tarquin,” I gasped, and his head whipped to me. He winnowed the distance between us, bringing Aracely with him.

“Lady Feyre,” Tarquin said. “I am sorry I am late.”

“You’re right on time,” I said with a weak smile. I turned to Aracely, who clung to the High Lord’s waist. “Thank you, Aracely. You saved us.”

“Aracely?” Tarquin glanced down at the girl who held him. “You’re Princess Aracely?”

She nodded and met his eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Tarquin.”

Tarquin’s jaw set and he looked again at me and my unconscious sister at my side. “Let me get you all to safety. The battle is waning on this front--we’ll find Varian and take the measure of things.”

I nodded, thankful. I was too weak to winnow myself, let alone take my sister with me. “Thank you,” I breathed. Tarquin extended his arm to me, and in the next breath he winnowed us all to the safety of the manor.

-

Our enemies were routed overnight, and by dawn there remained little but scattered bodies of friends and foe across the muddy fields. After Tarquin had come to our aide, he had gone back out to battle, and he had helped Prince Masaru and Varian route the remaining attackers.

Our forces were hard-hit, as the attack had come as a surprise and they had struck a part of the court that was less well-guarded than the cities like Adriata. Our numbers had dwindled, and as I sat curled in a chair by the fire with a mug of molten chocolate in my hands, I prayed to the Mother that reinforcements from my court would arrive soon.

Nesta was curled on her side on the couch, asleep, her brass hair hanging over her face. Aracely sat in a chair on the other side of the room, her shoulders slumped, eyes dull but her mouth set firmly. Her fingers were laced together in her lap.

There was a knock on the door to the den where we rested and Tarquin came in, still in his armor but without the helmet. He stopped suddenly when he saw Aracely, his lips slightly parted. Then he remembered his manners and nodded his head to me. “Lady Feyre,” he said, sounding tired. “Thank you for defending my court today.”

I had sat upright, my body aching, and I nodded solemnly in return. “I am sorry for your losses,” I said.

“And I for yours.” He sucked in a breath and turned back to Aracely. “I am sorry that your first impression of my court was such, Princess,” he said. “I . . . I hope to offer you a better view of it soon.”

“Your court is lovely, Lord Tarquin,” Aracely said softly. “I never knew the color green could be so lovely. Or blue . . .” She cleared her throat and said, “It’s awful that they would target such a beautiful place. Thank you for saving me.”

Tarquin gave a small smile. “My sword is yours as long as you are a guest in my court,” he said. His smile slipped. “Though of course, if you’d rather return to Day, I would understand.”

“And perhaps never make it out again?” Aracely asked, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “I came here for an adventure, Lord Tarquin, and to see the world. I’ve had plenty of both already, and I’m only just beginning.”

Tarquin smiled widely and his eyes glimmered like sapphires. “Perhaps an adventure on a ship or a pleasant mountainside might be more what you’re looking for, rather than a battlefield?”

“Perhaps,” Aracely said with a smirk, “but I suppose I won’t know until I try it.” She rose to her feet and smoothed her skirts. “If I’m not mistaken, dawn will be here soon, and I can’t sleep a wink as long as the sun is up. So I am going to salvage as much of the night as I can.”

Tarquin held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you.”

Aracely looked him up and down and said, “Thank you, Lord Tarquin, but I know the way.”

Tarquin lowered his arm and smiled warmly. “Of course. Sleep well, Princess.”

“And you.” Aracely curtsied and slipped out of the room. Tarquin watched her go, and then, at long last, he turned back to me.

“Varian has informed me of the . . . recent shifts. And I would like to personally apologize for Cresseida’s involvement in all this.”

“I don’t hold you responsible,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“Thank you. But I remain sorry. Once this battle is reckoned for, I will offer you some of my men to help retrieve your sister.”

“Any help you can offer will be greatly appreciated,” I said, “but I will be leaving tomorrow, if Nesta is well enough to go.” I looked at my sleeping sister, who had only awoken long enough to be bathed and tended before slipping back to sleep.

“You don’t seem to have slept much, either,” Tarquin noted, observing the dark circles under my eyes. “You won’t save your sister if you cannot stay awake.”

I stiffened. “Thank you for your bluntness, Tarquin,” I said tightly.

He dipped his head. “That is the way of the Night Court, is it not?”

I reluctantly smirked. “Indeed.”

“How is Lord Rhysand?”

Ice sluiced through my blood, undoing the work of the hot drink. “He is well.” At least, I thought he was. I hadn’t felt anything on the bond, not sense he’d brought me here. He was there, I could feel him. But it was cold. Quiet. A constant reminder of what I’d said . . . how hateful I’d been. “He remains in the Night Court to defend our city from a promised attack.”

Tarquin nodded. “My armada engaged a fleet of ships heading up the coast this morning--or, yesterday morning,” he corrected, remembering the time. “We took out some of their ships, but I had to leave to come here, so others may have gotten through.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It is a comfort to know we have you as an ally, Tarquin.”

“Likewise, Feyre.” Tarquin shifted and his armor’s plates clinked. “I must see to my men and then attempt to sleep myself. Make yourself comfortable as you once did.”

“Is my sister still allowed quarter?” I asked, remembering that he’d banned her from the estate for nearly burning his forest down.

Tarquin chuckled. “After her brave actions of this battle, of course.” He sobered. “Please, let me know when you depart. I want to wish you well and see if I can send any men to support you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I agreed. “Good night, Tarquin.”

“Good night, Feyre.” He turned to go, but I cleared my throat after him.

“Aracely is a jewel,” I said casually. “I’m glad you got the chance to meet her.”

Tarquin looked back at me, his mahogany skin darkened over his cheeks, before he shook his head and left me alone with my sleeping sister in the den.

As he left, I plucked forlornly at my quiet bond with Rhys and prayed that perhaps my mate would be able to forgive me soon.


	49. Chapter 49

**(Read:[Part I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144115876177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-acotar-fanfiction) | [II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144124519697/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-2) | [III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144152954117/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-3) | [IV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144176149972/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-4) | [V](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144203314722/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-5) | [VI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144222504032/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-6) | [VII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144264352147/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-7) | [VIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144302176872/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-8) | [IX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144325720827/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-9) | [X](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144410042437/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-10) |[ XI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144428856987/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-11) | [XII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144467772597/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-12) | [XIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144482791492/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-13) | [XIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144509793857/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-14) | [XV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144526296177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-15) | [XVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144533307437/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-16) | [XVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144584399442/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-17) | [XVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144607436172/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-18) | [XIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144673004487/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-19) | [XX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144715387742/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-20) | [XXI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144773109822/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-21) | [XXII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144785440592/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-22) | [XXIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144816733887/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-23) | [XXIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144863502432/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-24) | [XXV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144888533932/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-25) | [Nessian I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144913287592/grounded-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XXVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144963486847/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-26) | [XXVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144984949272/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-27) | [XXVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145072450137/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-28) | [Elucien I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145099706367/sweet-silences-an-elucien-one-shot) | [XXIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145114532512/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-29) | [XXX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145127970987/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-30) | [XXXI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145152836252/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-31) | [XXXII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145184519872/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-32) | [XXXIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145232278172/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-33) | [XXXIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145269140532/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-34) | [XXXV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145311446732/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-35) | [Elucien II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145363343567/blooming-an-elucien-one-shot) | [XXXVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145382583167/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-chapter-36) | [XXXVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145430517822/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-37) | [XXXVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145480855907/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-38) | [Nessian II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145522306062/compelled-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XXXIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145683683257/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-39) | [XL](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145732028177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-40) | [Feyrhys I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145636643992/dust-sweat-stars-a-feyrhys-one-shot) | [XLI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145873146517/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-41) | [Elucien III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145824111612/unspoken-memories-a-elucien-one-shot) | [XLII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145908707692/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-42) | [XLIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145967346467/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-43) | [Elucien IV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146019471037/frozen-bridges-an-elucien-one-shot) | [Nessian III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146127383677/thunderstruck-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XLIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146130077327/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-44) | [XLV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146186599787/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-45) | [XLVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146236742567/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-46) | [Elucien V](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146286090682/frost-and-fire-an-elucien-one-shot) | [Azriel I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146313090767/shadowfire-an-azriel-one-shot) | [XLVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146379184672/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-47) | [XLVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146428348737/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-48) | [L](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146519266462/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-50) ) **

**CHAPTER FORTY-NINE**

It was difficult to sleep without Rhys beside me. **  
**

I tossed and turned for a while, missing his solid form cocooning me in his arms, brushing my hair away from my face and kissing my ear. His scent of citrus and jasmine was absent, and I was hollow without the steady sounding of his breathing.

I gave up after an hour of trying. I couldn’t--couldn’t go on without facing what I had done. So I went to the desk near my bed and grabbed some parchment. This would be hard. I was not as eloquent as him, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say would come out in the right words. But I had to try.

* * *

 

_Rhys,_

_I can’t sleep without you. Can hardly breathe without you. I feel like I walked away from the very thing that sets my heart to beating every morning, and I am an idiot._

_I said a terrible thing. Many terrible things. You didn’t deserve them, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me for them. I wish I could learn. My fae gift is the Oath, but I seem pretty awful at keeping my oaths to you._

_But Rhys, I need you. More than I’ve ever needed anyone. I don’t expect you to follow where I’ve so foolishly gone, but please . . . let me know you’re there. That you’re alive. That you . . . that you might consider forgiving me._

_I have no right to ask this of you. You begged me and I did not yield. My cruel, merciless heart did not yield. Take the time you need. But know that I am sorry--sorry beyond words._

_I’m going to the Spring Court today to save Mor and my sister--and our idiot friends who decided to go after them without telling us. I will be thinking of you, loving you, at every moment. I didn’t want to go without you knowing that._

_I miss you. Stay alive._

_The stars are beautiful tonight._

_Feyre_

I kissed the letter and sent it vanishing into the dark, hoping that it would find its way to my mate before he fought for Velaris. Then I crawled back over to my bed, too tired to even cry, and curled under the cool sheets. My body dragged my unwilling spirit into a deep sleep, and I did not stir again for hours.

-

It was midday by the time I woke, and I cursed my body for it. But I had to admit I’d needed the rest, after not getting a good night’s sleep in over two days. I rose slowly and pulled on my Night Court clothing, even though I knew I would be changing into my leathers soon. I wasn’t particularly sore, though my back ached from where my wings had been jerked by the wind. The sun was already high and the air was quiet with the dreadful silence of the aftermath of war. Yet the birds sang, as though hundreds had not died on the summer grasses the day before.

I walked over to the desk. There was no reply from Rhys.

I went downstairs, famished, and met Nesta in the corridor. “How are you feeling?” I asked her, squeezing her hand in mine.

Nesta looked down at our hands, and in the next moment, she threw herself at me and wrapped her arms around me. I almost stumbled, but she held me close. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I . . . I haven’t felt so free in so long.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Do . . . do you still have it?”

Nesta drew back from me and nodded, and when she cast her eyes to the floor, the air shimmered and the Cauldron appeared. My stomach turned at the sight of it, but it seemed calmer, uncharged . . . still thrumming with power, but not like it was about to consume everything in sight. “It still seems to _like_ me. But I’m not bound to it. I could walk away and leave it here if I wanted. And to have that--to have that choice . . . to have _any_ choices. Thank you, Feyre.” She summoned the Cauldron away and I let out a long breath. “I have to tell Cassian,” she said, her eyes bright. “I need--” She turned red and bit her lip before clearing her throat. “I promised I would tell him.”

“Nesta, I know,” I assured her with a gentle smile.

“I know you know,” Nesta snapped, her face turning even redder. “But we’re going about it our own way.”

“As you should. Why don’t we go eat, and then we can work out a plan for getting Elain back.”

At the reminder of our sister, the color leeched from Nesta’s face and she nodded, her lips a tight line.

Tarquin was in the dining hall, eating with Aracely, who seemed quite alert despite the small amount of sleep she’d gotten the night before. Tarquin’s exhaustion showed in the tightness of his brow, but he looked at Aracely warmly as she carried on light conversation with him. They both raised their heads to see us coming in and we joined them quietly, trying not to interrupt. Neither seemed bothered, though.

“Did you sleep well, Lady Feyre?” Aracely asked, sliding a plate of fresh fruit toward me.

I smiled thankfully. “I’m rested,” I replied, unable to say I slept well in the absence of my mate. “How are your men, Lord Tarquin?”

Tarquin sighed. “We took some losses, but we managed to do more damage to the other side, thanks to the two of you and Prince Masaru’s forces.”

“It was the least we could do, after all your graciousness,” I replied. I swallowed as another thought occurred to me. “Did my Second take the Book with her, or did she leave it here as promised?”

“She left it here,” Tarquin said, “but she’s locked it up in a safe box that even I can’t open. I don’t even recognize the magic.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. I’d much prefer it locked up and safe. And one certainly can’t say that your Second doesn’t have reasons for everything she does.”

I chuckled. “I think you’re giving her more credit than I am in this case.”

“I’m sure they’re all right,” Tarquin said, sensing the worry on my face.

I bit my lip and locked eyes with Tarquin. “In this time of war, Tarquin, I think that there is no one I would be more honored to call a friend than you.”

Tarquin smiled. “I am likewise honored, Feyre.”

“Is there any chance my spymaster left maps or reconnaissance behind?” I asked. “I know the manor well enough, but I don’t know how Hybern has the armies laid out.”

“Yes, he’s left them in the upstairs study,” Tarquin said. “No clues about his own plans, but we have a good idea about how Hybern’s forces are arranged.” He laced his fingers and set his elbows on the table. “I also took a look at the border in your absence. I was not aware that Hybern had figured out a way to come through, but with that spellbook of his I’m not surprised. I do know that the border enchanted to warn him of anyone passing through if they use their magic.”

I sucked in a breath. The same kind of enchantment he’d used to track Rhys. “Did Azriel know about this?”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes. So I’m sure whatever strategy they had factored this in.”

“That makes it harder for us, though, doesn’t it?” Nesta asked. “If we can’t use magic . . .”

“We can sneak across the old-fashioned way,” I said to her. “And frankly, I don’t care if he knows we’re there once we’re in. We just need to get close enough to do some damage before he finds us.”

“I have ships moving to engage Hybern on the coast of Spring,” Tarquin said, “and I believe Azriel gave the Illyrians orders to engage with Autumn today, before Dawn can arrive.”

“Great. So we’ll be walking onto a battlefield,” I muttered.

“It will be a good distraction,” Nesta reminded me.

“Fair enough.”

“Prince Masaru asked to join you,” Tarquin said. “He has an elite force under his command that specializes in silent attacks, and they can help you while you try to find your friends.”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking that I wasn’t keen on having to look out for more than myself and Nesta, but I realized that the help would be invaluable. “I’ll accept his offer. I hope to go at sunset.”

“That’s a few hours to prepare,” Tarquin said with a nod. “I would go with you myself, to make up for what Cresseida did, but I’m needed here.”

“I understand,” I assured him. “Thank you for all you have done.”

“It is an honor.”

-

That night, I winnowed with Nesta to the border where I had promised Prince Masaru we would meet. The Winter Prince bowed as I approached and I nodded in return. “Thank you for agreeing to let us join you,” Prince Masaru said.

“Thank you for offering,” I said, looking over the five lean and vicious looking High Fae behind him. Or at least--they looked High Fae. They were all pale with the same narrow eyes as Masaru, but instead of black hair like his, their hair was silvery blue and slicked back, and if I tilted my head I detected an icy sheen to their skin. Their eyes were like shards of ice, and their noses were oddly long, at least compared to Masaru’s. None of them said a word, only stood straight with their hands fully visible at their sides.

“Allow me to introduce the Frost Warriors,” Masaru said, gesturing to the men. “Half High Fae, half tengu--a lesser fae found in the mountains of our court. They’re defenders, trained alongside me in my court. They are vicious and will do what they can to keep you from harm.”

“Tarquin told you about the enchantments on the border?”

Masaru nodded. “Yes, but the Frost Warriors won’t need magic to protect you.” The Frost Warriors, of all genders, bowed in silent deference.

We coordinated our plans and then slipped through the tiny hole in the border Tarquin had opened for us, stepping across stones in the river until we had reached the milder, sweeter air of the Spring Court. My nose wrinkled against it as my body instantly reacted to the memories of this place.

We crept across the rolling hills in the direction of the manor, but it was several miles and it took some time. The sun was starting to sink below the horizon, and I could feel my own power rising in response. But I kept it leashed tight--I couldn’t use any magic until precisely the right moment.

The Frost Warriors moved like phantoms around us, and Masaru himself was as ghostlike as the rest of them. His silver eyes glinted in the moonlight, and his beautiful face was set in a look of determination. After a while, he held up his hand and we all stopped near a copse of trees.

Shadows flew out of the tree branches and lunged toward the Frost Warriors. Nesta and I leapt back at Masaru’s hushes warning, and we watched in awe as the Frost Warriors moved like wildcats, catching the assaulting fae by the throats and throwing them to the ground, or leaping through the air and cutting them out of their flight with extended legs. The fight was completely silent, and soon there were six fae bodies curled up on the ground.

“We need to get away from the trees,” Masaru said.

“Isn’t it dangerous in the open?” Nesta hissed.

“We’ll be able to see our enemies better,” Masaru said. “Though the Frost Warriors can detect almost anything, it’s less of a risk.”

Just then, we heard clashing swords coming from within the cluster of trees. I heard shouting, and Masaru waved to urge us away from the conflict. But then I caught a familiar scent.

Three familiar scents, actually.

Masaru stood up straighter as he seemed to recognize them, too. He darted into the trees, the Frost Warriors surrounding him, and I skirted around the edge, Nesta on my heels, as we approached the fighting. I skidded to a halt as I approached the clearing and a sudden wave of fire swept across the grass, mowing down a row of what had to be Hybern’s forces. There were scores of faeries encamped in this section of the woods, it seemed, and . . .

. . . and my three friends were fighting them. Alone.

Amren was already surrounding by a pile of writhing bodies--her magic and her feline ferocity had taken out several of the lesser fae at Hybern’s command. She leapt up to a branch and swung from it, flying through the air until she struck a faerie in the head with both of her feet, knocking him backward and crushing his face with a sickening sound. She immediately whirled up to knock off a fae that had come behind her, and as it reeled back, Truth-Teller came darting out of the shadows to impale it. Azriel and Amren nodded at each other and assumed a formation back-to-back, Amren propelling fae away from them with invisible magic while Azriel cut them away with his mighty sword.

Then, my eye was drawn to another flash of fire, and my eyes widened as I saw Lucien wielding bright orange flames, incinerating attackers as they lunged at him, his arms covered in sleeves of flame. His metal eye glinted in the light coming from him, and his mouth was a wicked snarl as he cut down his enemies.

I had never seen him fight like that.

I gasped as the Frost Warriors darted like arrows from where they crouched in the trees and joined the fray, using no magic, only their lean and nimble bodies, to incapacitate their enemies until they were lifeless lumps on the ground. Lucien’s flame flickered as he laid eyes on them, finding Masaru among them. “Ru!” he gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Luc,” Masaru said casually as he struck a faerie with the long staff he’d had strapped to his back. “Saving your ass, it seems like.”

“You brought the Frost Warriors?” Lucien asked even as he sent another spear of fire into the heart of an opponent.

“You and Elain are worth it,” Masaru grunted, leveling a kick at an insect-like creature, who flew back with a nauseating crunch.

I flew into action as I saw a crowd of fae rising up behind them. I leapt out of the shadows and held out my hand to the group of foes, using my daemati magic to knock them all unconscious in one blow. It seemed like the safest magic to use, and among the other magic being thrown about this clearing it seemed unlikely that it would draw much attention.

“Feyre!” Lucien gasped, his flames almost winking out entirely.

There was a garbled screech as Amren and Azriel eliminated the last of their attackers, and the clearing suddenly fell into a silence broken only by the gasps of the standing fighters.

I stepped away from the bodies that had fallen around my feet. Azriel and Amren stepped apart, eying me with trepidation.

“Feyre,” Azriel said, sounding . . . almost nervous. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” I said, my voice sharp. “My sister is in danger--of course I would come. Did you think I wouldn’t?” I leveled a glare at each of the three of them in turn. I growled. “You all just had to go gallivanting off without me and I had to come after you . . . I am your High Lady, not your damn mother!” Azriel shifted, looking ashamed. Amren’s face did not even twitch.

Lucien’s mouth was a firm line, though I could see the slight fear in his russet eye. “I had to--”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off. I sighed long and hard as I said, “You could have told me.” I looked at Amren, giving her a look that silently told her that I had hoped she would have thought of me. Her face betrayed no expression, but I knew she’d received my message.

“Who were we just fighting?” Masaru asked, cutting the tension with a matter of business.

“Hybern’s forces,” Lucien said tersely. “There’s another clutch of Spring Court fae a little further south between here and the manor.”

“And Autumn Court is just to the east, and the Illyrians have already engaged them,” I said, and Az nodded in confirmation. “It should suit as a distraction while we get Mor and Elain out. My question is . . . did you all have a plan before you came charging in here, or were you just going to roll the dice and hope for the best?”

“We have a plan,” said Azriel in his deep voice.

I spread my arms. “Then, by all means, enlighten me.” Azriel raised his eyebrows, and I folded my arms over my chest. “If you think I’m not going in there with you, then you’re bigger idiots than I thought.” Amren at last snarled, but I didn’t pay her any mind. “Tell me what you have planned, and I’ll join in.”

“So will I,” Nesta said, stepping up beside me.

“Then what?” Lucien asked.

“Then,” I said, “we’ll go and get our family back.”


	50. Chapter 50

**(Read:[Part I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144115876177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-acotar-fanfiction) | [II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144124519697/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-2) | [III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144152954117/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-3) | [IV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144176149972/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-4) | [V](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144203314722/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-5) | [VI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144222504032/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-6) | [VII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144264352147/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-7) | [VIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144302176872/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-8) | [IX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144325720827/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-9) | [X](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144410042437/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-10) |[ XI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144428856987/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-11) | [XII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144467772597/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-12) | [XIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144482791492/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-13) | [XIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144509793857/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-14) | [XV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144526296177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-15) | [XVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144533307437/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-16) | [XVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144584399442/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-17) | [XVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144607436172/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-18) | [XIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144673004487/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-19) | [XX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144715387742/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-20) | [XXI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144773109822/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-21) | [XXII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144785440592/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-22) | [XXIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144816733887/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-23) | [XXIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144863502432/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-24) | [XXV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144888533932/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-25) | [Nessian I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144913287592/grounded-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XXVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144963486847/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-26) | [XXVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/144984949272/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-27) | [XXVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145072450137/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-28) | [Elucien I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145099706367/sweet-silences-an-elucien-one-shot) | [XXIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145114532512/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-29) | [XXX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145127970987/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-30) | [XXXI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145152836252/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-31) | [XXXII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145184519872/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-32) | [XXXIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145232278172/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-33) | [XXXIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145269140532/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-34) | [XXXV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145311446732/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-35) | [Elucien II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145363343567/blooming-an-elucien-one-shot) | [XXXVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145382583167/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-chapter-36) | [XXXVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145430517822/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-37) | [XXXVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145480855907/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-38) | [Nessian II](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145522306062/compelled-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XXXIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145683683257/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-39) | [XL](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145732028177/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-40) | [Feyrhys I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145636643992/dust-sweat-stars-a-feyrhys-one-shot) | [XLI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145873146517/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-41) | [Elucien III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145824111612/unspoken-memories-a-elucien-one-shot) | [XLII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145908707692/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-42) | [XLIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/145967346467/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-43) | [Elucien IV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146019471037/frozen-bridges-an-elucien-one-shot) | [Nessian III](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146127383677/thunderstruck-a-nessian-one-shot) | [XLIV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146130077327/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-44) | [XLV](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146186599787/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-45) | [XLVI](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146236742567/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-46) | [Elucien V](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146286090682/frost-and-fire-an-elucien-one-shot) | [Azriel I](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146313090767/shadowfire-an-azriel-one-shot) | [XLVII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146379184672/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-47) | [XLVIII](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146428348737/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-48) | [XLIX](http://sarahviehmann.tumblr.com/post/146473763722/a-court-of-war-and-starlight-part-49) ** ) **  
**

**CHAPTER FIFTY**

It was easy to navigate through the woods on the north side of the manor even through the dark, and soon I found one of my favorite old trees and climbed up into it, helping Nesta up with me while Azriel leapt up to a branch above me and Amren pounced like a cat onto one below. I knew the manor like the back of my hand and could get us in and out in a heartbeat, but we needed first to know exactly what we were facing when we went in.

Amren’s job was to feel out the wards and the enchantments Hybern had laid over the place, some of which only she would be able to sense or understand. Azriel searched his shadows to listen for where the guards within were stationed. My job was to find Mor.

* * *

 

I cast my daemati magic out toward the manor, avoiding contact with the guards and soldiers I encountered, feeling my way through the wards as I had on Hybern. It was easier this time, as though my magic remembered the feel of it. I could sense Tamlin in them, as though he had leant his power to Hybern to help construct these shields, just as he had once used those shields to lock me inside.

Mor had gotten me out then. And I would get her out now.

Finally, I felt her spark.

It was dim, but there, glowing like an ember amidst the dark and roiling thoughts of those surrounding her. I could not sense Hybern--it was as though he wasn’t there at all. Perhaps he’d been drawn away from Tarquin’s attack offshore. No matter the reason, his absence was only a benefit to us. Mor remained, still, unmoving, her tremendous mental shields intact but still recognizable. I sensed that something was different. My mind flashed back to the vision Hybern had shown Rhys and me of Mor collared with that same terrible stone. We would have to break it off of her before we left.

It seemed she was in the throne room, her body still, as though waiting. Waiting for us.

She’d been waiting too long.

Last, I threw my magic out, searching for any sign of my sister. And I found her. Sleeping, almost peacefully, in the rose garden. Her aura, too, was weak, but she was not dead. She wasn’t dead.

I drew my magic in and signaled to my team. “Mor’s in the throne room,” I murmured, and Azriel nodded that he’d sensed the same from his shadows. “Hybern isn’t there.”

“What about Cresseida or Tamlin?” Masaru asked.

“I could not sense either of them,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Just be careful.”

We all leapt down from the tree to the ground where Lucien, Masaru, and the Frost Warriors waited. “Well?” Masaru asked.

“We have a plan,” I told him, and amended our earlier discussion based on our new information. I looked at Lucien. “I found Elain.” My friend sagged in relief as Nesta grabbed my arm. “She’s in the rose garden. Sleeping, it seems. Alive. But Lucien,” I said, fixing my eyes on him, “We have to get Mor out first. She’s inside, and our window to get in and out is far shorter. I swear to you that we will get Elain, but we have to go for Mor first.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened but he nodded in understanding. “I’m with you, Feyre,” he said. “I trust you.”

“Good,” I said. “Azriel, any reports on the battle with Autumn?”

“Still raging,” Azriel replied, his smooth bass voice filling the woods. “But Dawn is approaching and will likely be here in a matter of hours. Winter Court delayed them, but they’ll be here soon. We need to be out before they arrive.”

I trembled at the memory of Dawn Court’s fierceness in battle. “Agreed.”

“The Frost Warriors and I will keep to the perimeter and take out sentries and guards,” Masaru said. “Lucien will tell us where to look.”

“I have a good sense of the wards,” Amren said. “We’ll need that glorified kettle of yours to get through, though,” she added, jerking her chin at Nesta.

Nesta’s face was set in fierce determination. “I’m ready.”

“Then we all are,” I said. “Nesta, stay with Amren. The second we’re ready to go for Elain, I’ll come for you.” Nesta nodded, and I let out a tiny sigh of relief that she wasn’t about to go charging off on her own. She was smart--she knew that this needed to be done carefully, or else we’d never get our sister out.

We slipped silently through the woods, and when we reached the edge of the trees, Nesta and Amren pulled aside to take cover under a nest of pines. Nesta sat cross-legged on the ground across from Amren, and when she held her hands between them, the air shimmered, and the Cauldron appeared. I cringed away from it, but Nesta did not flinch. “Go,” she said to me. “We’ll break the wards.” I gripped her hand once before slipping away through the shadows, Azriel on my heels.

I led them around to the east side of the manor, where the dining room was located. I could feel the hum of the wards as we approached, but the closer we got, the weaker the hum became as Amren and Nesta broke them and allowed us to slip through. I spread my wings and Azriel did likewise. I pointed silently to the balcony above us and he nodded. Like bolts of night, we beat our wings and leapt up to the balcony. I knew this wing of the manor was not used nearly as much, and our approach was less likely to be detected.

The glass doors at the top of the manor were locked, but Azriel’s shadows reached out and fiddled with the lock until it snapped open. I looked at him, impressed--I’d never seen his shadows act like that before. He shrugged and we slipped inside. The room we’d chosen was a little-used gallery with dusty couches and a blocked-up fireplace.

 _The throne room is in the center of the manor_ , I said into Azriel’s mind, and he nodded. We crept out of the empty gallery and into the corridor, slinking down until we reached a high-ceilinged area with a veranda that overlooked one of the open halls below--one where Tamlin had thrown many parties in the aftermath of Amarantha. I cast out my daemati magic to the guards stationed around the veranda, and they all instantly fell asleep standing up. Azriel and I slipped by like shadows, the spymaster checking rooms as we passed for any others that might detect our presence. We took a left and slipped through another gallery, exiting out the other side to a different corridor at the top of the grand staircase. I took out another round of guards, and we slipped down the staircase, our footsteps making no sound.

To the right was a corridor that led to the weapons room and other utility-oriented rooms, but to the left . . . the great hall. I was about to step forward to look, but Azriel grabbed my arm, his hazel eyes suddenly wide and terrified.

Then I felt it.

Cold, deep as fear, plunging straight through my skin and into my blood.

 _I smell food_.

The Bogge.

I looked at Azriel, wide-eyed, and he nodded in confirmation. I couldn’t see far into the great hall, but I could see the dais, and . . . Mor was there. Still, statuesque, with that hideous necklace around her throat, binding her there. But I dared not turn to look at the Bogge at the other end of the hall. I should have known Hybern wouldn’t leave Mor unguarded.

_I am so . . . hungry. No fear . . . this one has no fear._

An almost silent growl rippled out of Azriel’s throat. I dug through my own memories to try and recall the last time the Bogge had been on these lands. Tamlin hadn’t said anything about what it had taken to catch it. I just remembered Lucien’s warning--don’t look. Don’t react.

This was not going to be easy.

“You go for Mor,” I whispered. “I’ll distract the Bogge.” Azriel looked like he was going to argue, but I shook my head. “Break that necklace and get her out. Do not wait for me. Take her to Amren and Nesta.

Then, I took a deep breath, and I focused on shifting as I had in the Illyrian Steppes the day Rhys and I had been shot out of the sky.

I went blind.

I gave my body only a moment to adjust, to remember the training Rhys and Cassian had given me about fighting in the dark. The dark was my friend--I was its mistress. My other senses--smell and hearing and touch--clicked into place as I stepped into the great hall, pulling a sword from my back and approaching the cold, hideous presence of the Bogge.

_You cannot fight me without looking. You need to look. Look._

“I will not,” I said.

I heard the Bogge’s cloak swishing on the ground, heard talons clicking on the checkered marble floor. The cold stung my skin as it drew nearer. I thought of the comfort of the dark, of the beauty of the night sky . . . I reached for its mind, but it eluded me, as though it had no proper form, no proper mind to crack.

The air rippled to the left of my head and I ducked, causing the Bogge’s taloned swipe to miss my head. I thrust out a leg to trip it and it tumbled down, but my leg caught tangled in its cloak and its huge clawed feet and I fell with it.

The Bogge took the opportunity to leap for me, and I smelled its rancid breath as it pinned me to the ground, teeth lunging for my throat. _Look at me_ , it hissed. I thrust my feet into its abdomen with all the force I could muster and I felt it go flying off of me, then heard it go rolling across the marble.

There was a loud grunt and a clatter behind me, and I instinctively turned my head toward the dais. In the next moment I was hit with great force from the side and thrown across the room until my body wrapped around a pillar. There was a crunch in my abdomen and I cried out as I slumped to the ground.

“Feyre!” Azriel called.

“Go!” I cried. “Take her and go! I’m . . . I’m right behind you!” I could almost smell his hesitation, so I roared, “That’s an order!”

The air whispered beside me and I rolled with a loud ground as the Bogge leapt for me again, its claws catching my shoulder and ripping open the flesh there. I shrieked and snarled, and as the skin there stitched up I leapt to my feet, pulled out a dagger, since my sword had gone flying off somewhere when I’d hit the pillar.

I was too slow to miss the next strike to my jaw, and the pressure was so great that my head snapped back and I went sprawling onto the floor, jarring the splintered rib in my torso. I scrambled back as I felt the Bogge approach, felt the chill, felt the fear rising higher and higher within me, though I saw nothing but black.

_Look at me. Look at me. I will peel out your pretty eyes and make you look._

“No!” I cried, fumbling with my dagger as the presence in the dark loomed closer and closer. It came leaping down onto me, but before it could land on me and strike a deadly blow, it was knocked off of me by a force that I also couldn’t see. I let out a broken cry and tried to figure out what had joined us in the room, but I sensed nothing in the dark. The Bogge let out a broken whimper from my right, and then silence fell for a long moment.

“Feyre.”

I let out a whoosh of breath. No. It couldn’t be.

“Rhys?” I gasped.

“It’s all right, darling. I’m here.”

I blinked away the blindness in my eyes and almost began to weep when I saw my beautiful mate standing in a strip of moonlight stretching through the all glass-paned windows. He held his hand out to me and I took it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. I winced at the pain in my side.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, but I didn’t answer. I just threw my arms around his neck and started to cry.

“Rhys, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I wailed. “I should never have said that. I shouldn’t have left.”

His hand moved across my back, but he didn’t cling to me the way I clung to him. “Feyre,” he said in a low voice. “You’re right.” My breath caught in my chest and his hand stilled on my back. “You shouldn’t have said those things.”

“Rhys,” I said, my chest constricting.

“You abandoned me.”

I whimpered and tried to pull away from him, but his hand held me tight. His other gripped the back of my head, locking me against him. I slid my arms between us to try and push away, but he was too strong.

“I made a mistake,” he said, his voice hard. “I shouldn’t have mated with you. You promised me you’d stay and then you left. You sacrificed innocents, refused to protect your city. Your faithless, Feyre. Amarantha was right about your human heart.”

I screamed through my tears and shoved against him, ripping out of his embrace and stumbling back to look into his eyes. “Rhys!” I moaned, tears streaming down my face.

My heart stopped when I saw his eyes.

Black. Like pits in his skull.

And before my eyes the black of his leather melted into a long black robe. His hands formed claws unlike those he normally possessed, and his mouth broke into a wide, horrible smile with needlelike fangs.

It wasn’t Rhys at all.

It was the Bogge.

And I had looked at it. Now it could kill me.

It shrieked and leapt for my throat but I dodged out of the way, diving to pick up my dagger. When I whipped back around, it had resumed the look of Rhys, so that I had to attack what looked like my mate if I hoped to strike a blow. Fear burdened my stomach like a stone and I cast a halfhearted blast of ice toward the creature, but it misted away before it could touch him. The rib in my torso was already beginning to stitch back together, though it still ached. I found my sword and I aimed my dagger at the Bogge before lunging for it.

The Bogge snatched my knife out of the air. Now it had a weapon. I swore and picked up my sword, assuming the fighting stance Cassian had taught me. The Bogge prowled toward me, Rhys’s face wrinkled in a vicious snarl, and I could not stop my arms for shaking. I knew it wasn’t him, knew it wasn’t my mate, but the thought of running my sword through him--

The Bogge raised the knife to stab me and I bolted forward with the sword, but just as my blade was about to meet flesh, an awful, surging pulse wracked my core. My mating bond.

Rhys. The _real_ Rhys.

_Pain fear sorry Feyre love sorry here hurt mate love city power rage night wrath love Feyre mate._

A chaotic wave of emotion crashed over me as an image of Rhys raising his sword over his enemies as an ash bolt plunged into his side and he fell--

\--then the agonizing crunch as the Bogge’s knife buried itself below my left shoulder.

I screamed, my pain and Rhys’s rocking through me all at once and I collapsed to my knees, blood spilling on the smooth floor. _Rhys_. I sent a tug down the bond. _Please be alive. Please be all right_. But I could do nothing more as the Bogge kicked me across the face and I began to lose consciousness, aware only of how the monster seized my feet and dragged me, leaving a trail of red blood across the black and white checkered marble.

_Rhys, I love you. I’m sorry._

Then everything went black.


	51. Chapter 51

**CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE**

I was mortal again.

Or I may as well as been, for how weak I was.

Consciousness slowly drifted back to me, peeling away the numbing blackness from my eyes. My mouth was dry as though I hadn’t had anything to drink in days, and my limbs were limp--I hardly had the strength to lift them. Willing myself further into consciousness, I blinked and tried to figure out where I was. I wasn’t in a Bogge’s stomach--that much was clear. Rather, the room around me was dark and made of paneled wood. The air was thick with humidity and there was a reek of brine so strong that I could taste it on my tongue.

The world around me rocked and it took a long moment for me to realize that I wasn’t just nauseous. The room had moved.

I was on a ship.

How?

“Feyre?” A small voice sounded from elsewhere in the room and I peered through a little bit of light that streamed through slats in the ceiling.

“Elain!” I gasped as I saw my sister. I lurched toward her but groaned when I realized why I was so weak.

I was chained--chained with Hybern’s bluish stone restraints. No wonder my power was eluding me.

Elain, thankfully, was not chained like me, and she darted across the tiny room to me and threw her arms around my neck. “Thank goodness you’re awake!” she cried.

“What happened? Where are we? How did you get here?” I asked.

“We came willingly.” I lifted my head to see Lucien coming across the room to kneel beside me. “It’s why we’re not chained like you.” He held up his wrists and I saw a thick cuff of the blue stone on each of his arms. “Though that does not mean that Hybern did not take precautions.”

A new scent broke through the brine as Elain’s hair brushed against my face. “You smell different,” I said. “Both of you.”

“It’s been quite the adventure these past few days,” Lucien said, sounding very tired.

“It’s our mate bond,” Elain said, taking Lucien’s hand in hers.

“It’s not just that,” I said with a small shake of my head, though the blend of cinnamon and firewood blended intimately with Elain’s teakwood and lilac. Then, I looked my sister in the eyes and saw something new--flecks of gold amidst the brown, where before there had been none. And a slight glow beneath her skin . . . “Elain?” I asked.

Elain nodded as she read the realization in my face. “I’m like you now, Feyre. I’m a High Lady.”

I jerked in surprise, but even my weakened senses told me it was true. “What happened to Tamlin?” I asked, looking between Lucien and Elain. As far as I knew, the only way for a High Lord’s magic to pass on was if the High Lord had been killed.

Was Tamlin dead?

“He gave it up,” Lucien said, an undeniable bitterness in his words. “He decided that he was done being a High Lord and asked me to help him get rid of the power.”

“You can do that?” I asked. My heading was pounding--I was barely able to keep up.

“I can now that I’m a High Lord.”

I swore and tried to lift my hand to my head, but the chains were incredibly heavy. “What are you both doing here? I thought you were going to escape?”

“Jurian threatened to kill you if we didn’t come with him,” Elain said.

“He’s going to kill us anyway,” I muttered. “Why didn’t you stay away?”

“Feyre, we had to do _something_ ,” Elain said. “You came after me--I had to do the same for you.”

“You didn’t,” I said, my shoulders sagging. “It’s my fault we’re in this mess in the first place.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Feyre,” Lucien said, his words edged. “This is war. You can’t control everything.”

I leaned my head against the wall, trying to wish away the pounding. This--this is what it had all come to. Hybern was getting what he wanted. I had failed. “What about the others?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Nesta is still with Amren, as far as I know,” Lucien said, “and Mor and Azriel escaped, too. Knowing them, they’ll be after us in no time.”

“Where are we even going?” I asked as my stomach growled.

Lucien pulled a roll of bread from his pocket and held it out to me. I tried to raise my arm, but the chains were too short. Elain took the bread and gently held it near my mouth and fed me. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes at the weakness of me. “We don’t know much,” Lucien explained as I ate, “but we have passed through the wall. Heading south.”

I swallowed a lump of bread. “We’re heading to the Fortunate Isle.” It didn’t make sense--he had insisted that he needed all three of us, and yet he had left Prythian without Nesta. Was he so desperate that he would risk his plan without her? “How long have I been out?” I asked. I couldn’t remember anything between being stabbed by the Bogge and waking up here. The wound on my shoulder had healed--it hadn’t been an ash blade, thankfully, but it had still hurt like hell.

My stomach dropped as I remembered--right before I’d fallen unconscious, I’d felt something through the bond, a ripple of pain. I’d seen the image of Rhys being shot--

“Any word of Velaris?” I asked, my voice breathless. “Anything about Rhys?”

Elain and Lucien looked at each other. “We haven’t heard anything.”

I whimpered and hung my head, and Elain stroked my matted hair. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “I failed you.”

“Please, spare us the self-pity,” Lucien groaned, sliding across from me to prop his back against the wall. The light hit him from a different angle and I realized there was a sickly sheen to his face. Then I remembered--he wasn’t particularly fond of sea travel.

“Lucien,” Elain scolded. She turned to me. “Ignore him. He gets cranky when he’s ill.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and set his head back against the wall.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” I murmured. “I was so worried, Elain. I wasn’t there for you.”

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” she said. “I don’t blame you.”

I choked around a sob in my throat. “I blame myself.”

“Feyre, don’t think about how we got here,” Elain said. “That doesn’t matter right now. Let’s think instead about what we’re going to do now.”

“There’s nothing _to_ do,” I said miserably. “Hybern is too powerful. We can’t use our magic--”

“ _You_ can’t use your magic,” Elain corrected, and the new gold in her eyes glinted. I frowned, and my sister raised her arms before me and slid the stone cuffs from her wrist as though they were nothing.

Lucien’s eye went wide and he jerked violently, almost flinging himself over to Elain. “How did you do that?” he asked, taking her hands in his. Elain’s glow became stronger, reminding me of the Day Court magic that leaked from me when I was happy--a happiness that seemed so distant now that I couldn’t dredge up even a speck of it within me.

“I sang,” she said to him, “while you were sleeping. The fae song . . . the gift I have. According to that spirit you spoke to, it’s a key. That’s why Hybern needs me. So I thought, if it’s a key . . .” She smiled slyly. “It worked.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Lucien whispered, looking at her in despair and wonder alike as he kissed her knuckles.

“I was thinking,” Elain replied. “We’re obviously in no position to go charging above deck. You saw how many soldiers he has. We need to wait.”

“Until when?” I asked, panic still gripping me.

“He’ll need to bring me out when we arrive,” Elain said, “to break through the wards around the island. I’ll tell him I can’t do it with the binds on.”

“He won’t take them off,” I said. “You’re too powerful.”

Elain smirked. “He doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know a thing about me.”

I slumped against the wall. That was . . . true. The king hadn’t seen Elain since he’d thrown her into the Cauldron. “He doesn’t know you’re High Lady?”

“I don’t think so,” Elain said with a slight shake of her head. “They know about Lucien, but . . .”

“Tamlin’s not dead,” Lucien said. “They wouldn’t expect him to give up his power.”

“So you won’t unchain me, then?” I asked, raising my tired eyes to my sister.

She met my gaze with a level one of her own. “Not yet. Just trust me, Feyre. I’ll get us out of this.”

My heart felt like a crinkled piece of tin. “I do.” It was myself I wasn’t so sure of anymore.

“I am quite curious about this magic, though,” Elain said lightly. “I can tell that there are new things I can do, things I haven’t tried before.”

“You should be able to shapeshift,” Lucien said.

Elain nodded distantly. “I can feel that potential. I just don’t feel like it’s ready to happen yet, if that makes sense?” I nodded. I had felt the same way about tapping that part of my magic. “But other, more helpful things.” She fixed her eyes on me and wrinkled her nose. In the next moment, I was clean again as I clearly hadn’t been in ages. The blood on my leathers was gone, my hair wasn’t matted anymore. I didn’t feel like I’d just crawled out of a bog. “Oh, that will be useful,” she said with a smile.

How could she still smile? How could she still be so assured, when things were going to hell all around us? I didn’t have the hope she did. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe she could do incredible things . . . I just feared we were in far too deep for it to make a difference.

Lucien gathered Elain into his lap and held her while we waited for the time to pass. They murmured to each other sometimes, and he pressed kisses to her cheeks and temple. An ache broke through the numbness deep inside me and I longed for my own mate. I could still feel the bond connecting us, but I couldn’t touch it--couldn’t pluck at it or tell him that I was alive. I couldn’t find out if he was hurt. I knew he was alive--this much assurance I could cling to. But I’d _felt_ him be shot, and I didn’t know how badly he’d been injured.

Though I knew it had been the Bogge to say those things to me, the echoes of the harsh words formed with Rhys’s lips rang through my mind every time I closed my eyes. _I shouldn’t have mated with you. Amarantha was right._

Maybe the words were true. Maybe he shouldn’t have bound himself to me, weak and faithless as I was. I had known, before I’d accepted the bond--known how broken I was. Known that something was not quite right in my composition, that I could so easily leave Tamlin and . . .

No. It hadn’t been easy to leave Tamlin. And Rhys . . . what I had with him was far deeper than any of that, deeper than my own flaws and his anguish. If it hadn’t been meant to endure, it would have shattered by now. I closed my eyes and thought of that bridge of light that stretched between our souls in our dreams. I couldn’t reach it now--I was too weak. But it still connected us, still promised a chance for us to fix things.

I had been so hateful. And I missed him.

Tears slipped down my cheeks in silence, and I jumped in alarm as Elain’s soft presence crept over and sat beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. She took my hand and stroked the back of my palm with her thumb.

I might have drifted to sleep, but it wasn’t a deep one. I startled awake when the door to our cell below decks burst open. My eyes snapped open to see Elain’s glow hastily dim as she slipped the cuffs back on her wrists. One guard grabbed her roughly by the arm and Lucien snarled, leaping forward, but Elain yanked her arm away with a huff and said, “There is no need to handle me like that, _thank you_.” She strode past him and up the stairs like the lady she was. Lucien’s russet eye softened a touch but he snarled as a guard attempted to lay a hand on him.

It took several guards to manage my chains, but I stalked with heavy steps up the stairs to the deck of the ship, cringing against the sudden sunlight. I hissed at the guards as they passed, and some of them even had the decency to look frightened.

We were lined up across the deck before the King of Hybern and Jurian. There was a new sword strapped to the king’s waist--and I recognized it as the sword of the High Lady of Dawn. Was there _nothing_ she wouldn’t give him? The king looked us over. “Well, it’s not a complete set, but I suppose it will do for now.”

“Oathbreaker,” I spat.

The king chuckled. “Of course I am. I swore an oath to serve my father, and yet I had no trouble eliminating him when he dishonored me so. That I would break an oath to you should be no surprise.”

“And look where that’s gotten you,” I said, my voice low and harsh.

“Enough chatter,” the king said, inspecting the nails at the end of his sausage-like fingers. “I won’t waste time explaining your gifts, since you obviously know about them. I need her to sing.” He jerked his chin at Elain. “Sing, and break the wards.”

“I . . . I can’t,” Elain said in a trembling voice.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Jurian snapped.

Elain extended her wrists. “It doesn’t work with these on. I’ve tried.”

Hybern scoffed. “Well, the legends never said the wielders of the fae gifts were of any particular talent.”

Elain let out a little indignant huff. “I’ll do what you want,” she said. “Just take these off.”

“Sing first. Prove it doesn’t work.”

Elain crossed her arms, but she began to sing in that sweet voice I hadn’t heard in so long. I had ever heard the fae song, but it struck a familiar chord in my bones, as though I ought to know it by instinct. Yet, there was something off about it. It took me a moment to pinpoint it, but I realized that Elain, who usually had perfect pitch, was deliberately falling flat on a few notes. Sabotaging her song.

The variance was subtle enough that the king was convinced, and he looked over his shoulder at the expanse of water before us, snarling. “Take the bands off!” he growled, waving his hand.

Only Lucien and I saw the glint of triumph in Elain’s eyes as the guards removed the bands around her wrists. Then, she began to sing again, but this time her pitch was exact. Only her song worked on more than just the wards.

Lucien’s cuffs fell off first and he instantly lit himself on fire. It was enough of a distraction that the guards holding my chains dropped them, and the locks on them clicked off in response to Elain’s song. Elain began to glow with the golden power she had inherited from Tamlin, and vines snapped out of her shoulders like another pair of arms. One of them shot out and snatched the sword from Hybern’s waist, bringing it back to Elain’s grip.

The moment my sister’s hands touched the hilt of the sword, a sunburst erupted across the deck, blinding several soldiers and causing Hybern and Jurian to leap back in alarm. She held the sword in front of her, looking terrified but determined, and Lucien jumped to her side, coated with flames.

They were radiant. Like children of the sun.

Guards lunged for them but I whipped out tendrils of night just as Lucien raised a shield of flame. Hybern had righted himself, and I could see the murder in his eyes. “Elain!” I cried. “We have to--” my words were cut off as my throat closed and I began to choke, struggling to breathe. One hand clutched at my skin, but the other kept the darkness moving.

We were cornered. We had to get off the boat.

Even though I couldn’t breathe, I stumbled toward my sister and her mate and grabbed them, dragging them together to the edge of the ship. I gestured frantically at the water, and they both looked at me like I was insane.

“Feyre, I can’t swim!” Elain cried.

“It’s all right, pea, I’ll help you,” Lucien said as he saw my skin starting to turn blue. I needed to get off this ship--away from Hybern--before he succeeded in killing me. With one last blast of night propelling our enemies back, I threw myself into the choppy sea water. Elain screamed as she jumped in with Lucien.

When I hit the water, the pressure on my throat subsided, as though Hybern’s power was restricted to his ship.

Arrows started striking the water around us and I gestured for Lucien to dive. He wrapped his arms around Elain and plunged beneath the surface with me. I had the wherewithal to freeze the surface of the water around us to prevent the arrows from striking deep, but we could only swim so far before having to come up for air again.

I struggled to keep my head above the water as the waves tossed me about, but I could still see Lucien’s red hair and Elain’s gold bobbing above the surface. I soon felt the movement of the tide, and I realized that it was pushing us toward something . . . toward a landmass that I had not seen before Elain’s song had broken the wards and glamours around it. A landmass that rang of home, even though I had never seen it before in my life.

The Fortunate Isle.


	52. Chapter 52

**CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO - RHYSAND**

I roared as Cassian pinned me to the ground, holding me as a healer extracted the ash bolt from my ribs. That pain was nothing--it was like a flicker compared to the flaring pain beneath my left shoulder, where there wasn’t even so much as a scratch.

“Get _off_ of me!” I snarled, thrashing against his solid grip. “Feyre--I have to get to Feyre!”

“I know,” Cassian said through gritted teeth. “But let your damned side heal first!”

“She’s--something’s _happened_!” I insisted, bucking up again.

This time, I was met with Cassian’s fist in my face. And everything went black.

I wasn’t sure how long I was out, but it was enough time for the healer to get the ash arrow out and allow my skin to start healing over the wound.

“Rhys, what happened?” Cassian asked, his bruised face wrinkled in concern. “What did you feel?”

“She’s been stabbed--or shot--or something,” I ground out, wincing against the pain both in my side and in hers. “I can’t--she’s so _quiet_. She’s in trouble.”

“Then we’ll go,” Cassian said, helping me rise into a sitting position and handing me a flagon of water. “The battle’s over; the coast is secure. Hybern’s off with their tails between their legs.”

“Thanks to you,” I grunted, wiping my filthy hand over my sweaty forehead. Cassian had been incredible--fighting, commanding his men . . . reminding me why I had made him my general in the first place.

Hybern’s army had attacked us on two fronts, hoping to divide and weaken us. But we’d been preparing for that to happen, and the extra force we’d added to the shields around Velaris had slowed down the enemy force enough for us to get the upper hand--and save the city from destruction. It had been nothing like the last attack. Our opponents hadn’t been able to even set foot on the ground before we’d sent their bodies careening into the sea. Some stray blasts of magic had wrecked one or two buildings, but the civilians had been safe. Thanks to Feyre, and the complex strength she had brought to the shield. The spell our enemy had used before to shatter the shield no longer worked, thanks to her . . . to my mate.

Still, it had been no easy battle, especially along the coast. It had raged for two whole days, non-stop, and the chaos had been considerable. After ensuring Velaris was safe, I had flown to the coast to fight, but the cursed weapons and shields that Hybern’s men used made it a challenge even for me. I didn’t dare walk away from the battlefield, even when I began to get tired--my court needed my protection and I would not let them down.

This decision had cost me, and when I’d felt that first tremor down the bond--the first sign of my mate in trouble--I had been so distracted that a Hybern grunt had been able to send an ash bolt flying into my side. Cassian had been there and taken me away in a moment, but the battle had already begun waning.

“Are you kidding? We’d be trampled if it hadn’t been for you,” Cassian said, helping me to my feet with an arm over his shoulder. He led me off into an empty tent away from the worst of the aftermath. My strength was returning fast, and by the time we were inside, I could support myself. I turned to my brother and saw his face strained. “Do you hear anything from her? At all?” Cassian asked. He was worried for her, too,

I searched for the bond deep within me, where it had been sitting quietly for three days now. That silence, that limpness of the bond--it was enough to make me feel nauseous. I had wanted to tug at it, to awaken it and feel her more keenly . . . it hadn’t been like this since she’d been in the depths of her trauma after Amarantha. I hadn’t touched it for the first day or so because I thought she wouldn’t want me to. I thought she needed space, and I . . . I hadn’t quite figured out my own feelings yet, either.

I should have understood her better. I should have supported her, not guilted her for wanting to go after her sister. And though I had _hated_ that she had brought up Aderyn--had been struck so deeply it had made me remember just how much power Feyre had over me--in hindsight, she had been right. I _would_ have gone if it were Aderyn, if I’d been given that second chance to save her.

But I had been so afraid. So absolutely _terrified_ that something could happen to Feyre if we were apart--could happen to _me_ if we were apart--that I had panicked. I had tried to take her choice away from her. I had sworn never to do that, and . . .

I pressed a hand to my forehead. I was such an _idiot_.

“I don’t feel anything,” I said, my voice hoarse, “and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s pissed at me, or she’s hurt, or . . .” I choked on my words. My knees shook and I sat down on a cot, digging into an inner pocket of my shirt, which had been ripped by the ash bolt. I cursed when I saw that the note I had tucked there was torn and bloodstained. My shaking fingers unfolded it. I’d read it dozens, maybe scores of times by now. It had taken me far too long to read it--my own stubbornness and fear had led me to ignore it for almost a full day. I’d read it just before the battle had begun, over and over again. And as much as it had brought a wave of relief with it, it also pained me to hear my mate sounding so distraught. I’d wanted to winnow to her that moment and embrace her and tell her it was all right, that we’d be fine, but then the battle had begun and I had needed to focus on the fight at hand.

I scanned Feyre’s letter again, my memory filling in the literal holes made by the tears in the paper. She was going to the Spring Court . . . again. _You knew this_ , I reminded myself. The surprise had been hearing that the rest of my Inner Circle had gone without her.

They weren’t going to get away with that. It didn’t matter how much I loved them. They’d left their High Lady to rely on others outside her court. I could overlook many things, but that . . .

I cursed and shuddered, my strength returning to me far too slowly. “Have you had any word about what’s going on down there?” I asked.

“I got a message from Az,” Cassian said, sitting on the cot across from me, wincing at the lingering pain in his own body. “I haven’t read it properly yet.” He lifted the letter from the rough-hewn table beside his cot. He read it out loud, though it wasn’t a formal letter--more a list of events and reports to deliver the most essential details. Dawn Court had retreated and Mor was free, and Autumn Court was quickly being routed. Lord Beron had fallen, but no one had seen which of his sons had become the new High Lord. I nodded along at each report, but my ears were straining to hear the first sound of my mate’s name.

“Feyre went in after Mor and encountered a Bogge. Az and Mor got out, but Feyre was still fighting it off. They haven’t seen her again.”

I shot to my feet and instantly regretted it. My hands were balled into tight fists at my sides and my wings flared out as remnants of darkness poured from me. Cassian did not react, but his own fists were clenched. My entire body was bursting with the need to go after my mate, to find her, but I didn’t know where she was and didn’t have enough information to go on.

 _She’s not dead_ , I assured myself. _You would feel it if she was_. Or at least I thought I would.

“Did anyone go after her?” I asked coarsely. “Please--tell me she’s not alone.” The thought of my mate, in enemy hands, against her will . . . It wasn’t the first time, but before, she had chosen. She’d known what she was getting into. But this time she’d been taken, and I was going to make good on the promise I had made to her in the Illyrian Steppes months ago.

I would tear apart the world to get her back.

“I went after her.” My head snapped up and my heart stilled as I saw my Second stroll into the tent, a box tucked under her arm. Amren paused and looked between Cassian and me. “Your letter is a little out of date. The Autumn Court was defeated. They’re retreating now and Azriel and Mor are assessing the situation.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. As far as I knew she was still obligated to stay in the Summer Court if she wanted to keep an eye on the Book, unless . . . I glanced at the box under her arm. A growled stirred in the back of my throat. Amren had a way of doing whatever she wanted, and it seemed like this was no exception.

She looked at me disdainfully. “If you’d listen, O Mighty High Lord, I might tell you.”

“I don’t have the patience for this, Amren,” I seethed. “Where is my High Lady?”

Something flickered in Amren’s eyes and the skin around her mouth went tighter. “Hybern has her. I couldn’t get there on time.”

For a moment my body warred between an avalanche of fury and crushing agony. In the end, the agony won and I sank back onto the cot, shaking and running a hand through my matted hair. I held back the tears through sheer will, but my mind was a rush of thoughts and fears. _Hybern_. That bastard had her, after all we had done to ensure she and her sisters would be safe . . .

I had failed her. I should have been there with her, fighting beside her. She wouldn’t have been taken if I’d gone with her. I should have, I should have, I should have . . .

“Where is he taking her?” I rasped.

“Out to sea. He has her and Elain and Lucien. I think he’s taking them to the Fortunate Isle.”

“Nesta?” Cassian gasped suddenly. “What about Nesta?” The sheer panic on his face mirrored the panic in my heart.

“I left her and the Cauldron with Mor and Az,” Amren said. “As long as she doesn’t run off and do something stupid, she’ll be fine.”

“Let’s not talk about running off and doing something stupid,” I said through gritted teeth, fixing my deathly glare on Amren. She and Azriel . . . they’d made Feyre go in after them. They hadn’t been there for her. “How could you, Amren? I trusted you.”

Amren’s eyes widened, the closest she ever came to flinching. “I was going in after Mor.”

“And you couldn’t trust that we would go after her as soon as possible?” I snapped. “You thought I would just leave her there? That it wasn’t killing me every minute I couldn’t go after her? She’s my only family, Amren--I wouldn’t abandon her.” I swore and ran my hand through my hair again. “I can’t be everywhere at once.” I should have been at Feyre’s side, but I hadn’t been.

“How can we go after them?” Cassian asked. “The Fortunate Isle is hundreds of miles out to see, and Hybern’s ships are fast. None of us can fly or winnow that far.”

“Again, if you would _listen_ , I have some ideas,” Amren said, moving to perch on a barrel and shifting the box into her lap.

“Your ideas don’t seem to have been particularly helpful lately,” I griped. She glared at me and I met her gaze until she nodded.

“I wasn’t wasting my time in the Summer Court,” Amren said, sitting back on her tailbone with her hands on her knees. “I have most of the Book translated. And there are some . . . very valuable spells in here.”

I raised my eyebrows, my breath catching. “Did you . . . did you find the one you were looking for?”

Amren only shrugged. “The battle in the Spring Court was a success, but we’d be fools to think that we could match Hybern’s forces in the upcoming fights. We’ve lost a lot of men. He’s been recruiting on the continent, and there are battles happening over there too that haven’t even crossed the sea yet.

“We need reinforcements.”

“Who do we ask?” Cassian demanded. “We can’t contact Drakon in time for his forces to ready themselves. We’re two steps behind.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Drakon,” Amren said coolly. She locked her gaze on me. “The magic Hybern has been playing with is very old and very deep--older than this world. He’s an oaf who has no idea what he’s doing, I think, but that doesn’t mean that things can’t go very, very wrong. The only way to truly combat what he’s working with is through a different army. One that hasn’t been touched in a very, very long time.”

My blood ran cold as I understood her. “Impossible.”

“I got out.”

“You’re . . . different.”

“We have this,” Amren said, knocking on the lid of the box that I knew contained the Book of Breathings.

“The Prison might be under my jurisdiction, Amren, but that doesn’t mean I have any control over its residents,” I said. “If I let them out, I couldn’t guarantee what they’d do--if they’d even fight for us.”

“I’m not saying let them all out,” Amren argued. “Just the Fomorians.”

I shook my head. “No difference.”

“There’s a difference!” she spat, her voice rising in pitch. “The Fomorians may be monstrous, but they were tremendous warriors. And they likely hate Hybern as much as we do, considering he killed their king.”

“I’ll take your word on that,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t know or even pretend to know all of the history of the Fomorians. “But you’re right, they are tremendous. They enslaved _us_ , the High Fae, before Dagda and Nuada helped defeat them and imprisoned them. Do you think they’ll be satisfied to leave this world the way it is now? If I were them, I might be more inclined to turn it back to the way it used to be.”

“I think you’re missing my point,” Amren said with a slight frown. “I’m not suggesting you do this for the fun of it. I’m suggesting that they might follow you, Rhys, and follow Feyre--not just because you have Fomorian blood yourself, but because of what you stand for.”

“Excuse me?” I demanded. “Say that again?”

Amren rolled her eyes this time. “The Illyrians have the closest link to the Fomorians of any group of fae remaining in Prythian. All lesser fae have Fomorian blood, but Illyrians . . . well, they’re something different, aren’t they? It would explain their bloodlust.” She looked at Cassian, who bared his teeth. “So, you’re linked to them, and they’ll respect that.”

My jaw was starting to ache from clenching it so hard. “It’s such a risk.”

“Rhysand!” Amren snapped. “Your High Lady is currently in the hands of someone who wants to use her and murder her so he can enslave all of Prythian! What is the greater risk here? Think about it.”

I snarled at her. “I will get my mate back,” I said fiercely, “but I--” My words cut off as my own oath rang in my ears.

_I would tear apart the world to get her back._

Well, then.

“I assume you know how to release them, then?” I asked, looking my Second up and down.

“I do,” Amren said with a nod.

Cassian groaned. “Well, the world is already going to hell,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Might as well have some fun while we’re at it. Maybe I’ll meet my grandpa.”

Amren hissed at him in disgust, but my expression was somber. “Let’s go, then. I don’t want to waste any more time.” I stood and walked to the flap of the tent, holding it open and gesturing to my two friends. Cassian went first, and the Amren moved to walk past me. I stopped her with a cough. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for allowing my High Lady to be captured, Amren,” I said, my voice a low threat.

Amren gave me a terrifying, saccharine smile, and her silver eyes were daggers. Her voice was a deadly purr as she strode past me. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	53. Chapter 53

**CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE**

A great wave came and carried us to shore, but not without tossing us roughly beneath the surface so that my heels went up over my head and my shoulders knocked against the sea floor. Salt filled my tongue, my nose, my eyes, and when I rolled onto the sandy beach, grains of sand clung to me, coating me with coarse granules. I choked and sputtered, expelling the water from my nose, mouth, and ears as I pulled myself up further onto the beach.

I looked around for Lucien and Elain and saw them not too far from me. Elain was on her hands and knees, shaking badly and looking very pale despite the glow of her magic. She choked out sobs and Lucien crawled over to her, gathering her into his arms and rubbing her back. “It’s all right, pea,” he said. “We’re all right.”

She sniffled and nodded as she tucked herself tighter into his chest.

As I tried to catch my breath, I looked around us, taking in the sight of the tropical trees with coarse, scaly bark and fan-like branches. The sand was so pure it was almost white, and the sea was perfectly blue--the same blue as Tarquin’s eyes. Off in the distance, I could see Hybern’s ships approaching the island, but I had no idea if he could see where we had gone. We had to get off the beach, and fast.

I didn’t even have a chance to crawl over to Elain and Lucien before shadows fell over us and large figures landed in the sand, spraying the fine grains up around them. Elain screamed and hid her face while Lucien glared at the new arrivals.

The fae who had joined us were massive--tall and broad-shouldered, with golden-brown skin. Male and female alike, all bare above the waist with the exception of beaded collar pieces around their necks, surrounded us. I could see none of their faces, as they were all masked in golden helmets with stoic faces painted upon them. They all bore long spears at their sides and wore golden bracers to match their helmets. Their most defining feature, however, was the enormous white bird wings spreading from their backs. These wings were powerful, and thin plates of golden armor were placed along the vulnerable bones.

“Who dares intrude here?” one of them demanding, leveling his spear at us.

“We’re not the danger to you!” I gasped, holding my hands up. “There are ships coming--full of people who mean you harm. We’ve only just escaped ourselves.”

“How did you find us?” the man demanded.

“It’s a long story, which I would be happy to explain,” I said, “but please, I need to speak to Drakon and Miryam.”

Several of the soldiers growled. “Who says they are here?”

“We know!” I said. “We know everything. I’m . . . I am kin.”

“You are High Fae,” the man snapped, “but that does not make you kin.”

I flinched. “We mean no harm!” I said.

“You never answered my question,” said the man, whom I had determined was the leader. “Who are you?”

I gritted my teeth. Would revealing our identities put us in more danger? Perhaps, in this case . . .

“I am Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court and mate to Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. He was once a friend to Miryam and Drakon. And this is my sister Elain, High Lady of the Spring Court, and her mate, Lucien, High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

The soldiers shifted in surprise. “Prythian has changed much, it seems,” said one of the female soldiers.

“Not as much as you would hope,” I said. “Please, I’m requesting sanctuary among your people. The King of Hybern is sailing in as we speak and if he finds us, your people will be in danger.”

The leader did not speak for a moment, but the woman said, “Baraq, the wards have fallen. We cannot risk it if she is telling the truth.”

“I do not need your input, Meiriona,” Baraq snarled. But he jerked his masked face to the rest of his men, and they dragged all three of us to our feet.

Lucien snarled but I said, “Don’t fight, Lucien.” His face bore an expression of disgust, but he nodded and allowed the soldiers to winnow us all away from the beach.

When we landed again, we were in a place so different from the beach that I was wildly disoriented. Instead of the cool whites and blues of the beach, we were surrounded by lush, tangled jungle with tree so high they almost blocked out the clear sky above us. Birds of every color of the rainbow flew among the branches above us, making a joyous cacophony that echoed all around. Amidst the bird calls there was the sound of rushing water, and I saw a waterfall streaming down from the sky not far from us. That was when I realized that this whole place was in a basin of some kind--open to the sky, but with tall cliff walls encircling the buildings and trees.

The buildings themselves were made of a golden-red clay carved into shapes and painted with bright colors. We stood on a brad balcony of some kind that overlooked a city far below, which spread through the whole basin. The balcony belonged to a palace, and I stared up in awe at the enormous painted pillars that led into a door that seemed too large to be functional.

“Wait here,” Baraq grunted, leaving us with Meiriona and the others. I tried to catch Meiriona’s attention with my gaze, but either she couldn’t see me through her helm or she was deliberately ignoring me.

At last, Baraq returned, and this time, there was a High Fae at his side, clothed in a white tunic with gold cuffs and earrings, his hair shorn on both side and his remaining black hair braided at his scalp. He had a copper skintone and light brown eyes that look us over with no small amount of wariness. He looked over us carefully. His eyes fell upon the tattoo on my right arm, and his firm mouth parted in surprise.

“I understand I am in the presence of nobility,” the High Fae male said. “Greetings. I am Tomer, chief advisor to our king and queen. I wish I could welcome you with a lighter heart, but as your arrival here corresponds with a foreboding circumstance, I cannot do so.”

“Thank you, Tomer, I understand,” I said. “Do believe us when we say that we are enemies of the invading force brought here against our will. We mean no harm, and in fact wish to stop he who would.”

“I would like to believe you, Lady Feyre, but while we shall not neglect our duties of hospitality, neither can we place our trust in you just yet,” Tomer said.

“He is approaching your shores as we speak!” I protested. “I must warn your king and queen. I am the mate of Rhysand of the Night Court--he was their friend once. And I--” My words broke off in my throat. I had hoped to avoid stating my own relationship to them, as this might be even harder to believe, but it could be the only way to gain entry.

“Lord Tomer,” said Elain, stepping away from where she’d been clinging to Lucien. She was beautiful even soaking wet and covered with sand. “I understand your caution. But we do not exaggerate the threat. Please, let us speak to our grandmother.”

Tomer’s eyes went wide as he took in my sister’s face--her gentle features, her stature, and most of all, her wide brown eyes. These he stared at in awe. “Impossible,” he breathed. “That is _not_ possible.” He looked between Elain and me, his mouth actually dropping open--an unusual expression for someone who seemed as dignified as me. “Are you . . . are you _Daniela’s_ daughters? But you’re Fae!”

My shoulders instantly tensed at my mother’s name. “How did you know?” I murmured.

Tomer’s eyes looked back to me and seemed to search my eyes, too. But at the sight of my blue as opposed to Elain’s brown, his skin paled and his eyes went even wider. “Cauldron boil me . . .” he gasped. His stony expression crashed back into place and he snapped his fingers. Suddenly we were being grabbed again and led at a brisk pace across the balcony and through the enormous doors.

The interior of the palace was no less impressive than the exterior. The massive chamber was lined with pillars and reminded me something of the Hewn City, only it was far larger and far more colorful. Also, the carvings and paintings in the walls and on the pillars were not frightening and grotesque, but intriguing and almost narrative. I couldn’t make out many of the images as we were hurried along, our feet making quick clapping noises against the stone. I didn’t realize until I saw Elain’s limping step that she had lost a boot in the ocean.

We came to an abrupt stop at the end of a line of pillars, where the hall opened to a wide, open space where there was a long, sandstone table set up. Around a dozen chairs were lined up behind the table, but all of them were vacant. When we stopped moving, a great silence filled the hall, and even Tomer was completely silent and his eyes darted about, his mouth in a hard line.

At last, a door banged open in the corner of the hall and a woman came rushing in, her white, floating dress billowing behind her. She skidded to a stop when she saw us, and her deep brown eyes went wide.

Exactly the way Elain’s did.

The woman was beautiful--golden brown skin with reddish brown hair that fell in gentle curls over her shoulders, a modest golden band nestled at her brow. Her lips were full and soft, her chin small, and her body short and plump. Her hands rose to her mouth, and then pushed her hair back as she held the sides of her head in shock. That was when I saw her ears--rounded. Like a human’s.

“Elain? Feyre?” she gasped.

I went rigid. “How do you know our names?” I asked in a low voice.

“She told me,” the woman said, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Who did?”

“Your mother,” the woman choked, biting her lip. “A single letter, after each of you were born. To tell me about my granddaughters.”

I staggered. This--this was Miryam? “Miryam,” I breathed.

The woman nodded and then rushed toward us, embracing us both in a crushing hug. She held us for a long moment and then released us. “You poor dears. You look like you’ve been run through the wringer.”

“Oh, forgive us,” Elain said. She wrinkled her nose, and suddenly all three of us were spotless and dry. Miryam’s eyes widened again and then her face broke into a bright smile as she giggled.

“Look at you!” she laughed, and she raised her hand to trace Elain’s ear gently. Her smiled faltered. “How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, my expression still guarded. “I’m not sure how much you know about events in Prythian of recent years?”

“We know about Amarantha,” Miryam said, her eyes showing the shadows of long-forgotten horrors. “And we had heard about Feyre Cursebreaker, the mortal who defeated her. But I never thought . . . never expected . . .” She threw her arms around us again. “You’re both so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Elain said meekly.

Miryam noticed Lucien at last and said, “I do not know you. But you smell of Autumn.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched up in a smirk. “I am Lucien,” he said. “Elain’s mate.” I did not fail to notice that he left out his

Miryam’s expression brightened. “So the Mother’s Blessing applied to you as well,” she said.

“Mother’s Blessing?” Elain asked.

“All of my descendants are destined to find their mates,” Miryam explained. “It was a special gift for our efforts during the War.”

“Yes, Nesta said something about that,” I said.

“Nesta! The third . . . the oldest, if I remember?” Miryam asked. “Where is she?”

I cringed. “She is still in the Spring Court, the last I heard. Elain, Lucien, and I . . . we were taken by the King of Hybern by force and brought here. Because . . . because we have the fae gifts.”

Miryam’s elegant eyebrows shot up. “You . . . Oh, Mother . . .” She looked almost ill.

“I know,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. Elain has the fae song, and he made her open your wards.”

Miryam took a step back. “You did what? You . . . you let him in?” The joy on her face slipped away into one of horror.

“We escaped, and came to warn you,” I said. “He’s coming for the Stone. Everything . . . everything he always was after. It’s coming.”

“Surely you got word from the continent. Surely you know what’s been happening,” Lucien said.

“Yes, but . . . we were safe,” Miryam said. “We had nothing to fear.”

Anger stirred in my blood, though I could not say I was surprised at Miryam’s reaction. I remembered keenly my thoughts about Rhys when he had first shown me Velaris, the place he had protected from Amarantha even as the rest of Prythian fell. I knew that this place--this island--was Miryam’s Velaris. So I understood. But that did not change my anger.

They could have helped. They could have left their island and helped, before it ever got to this point. My fingers curled into fists at my sides as I felt the embers simmering beneath my skin.

“You need to ready your men,” I said. “Hybern will attack and plan on surprising you. He has an armada sailing in as we speak.” I paused and looked in my grandmother’s eyes. “An armada commanded by Jurian.”

Miryam looked like I’d slapped her. “Jurian.” The name escaped her lips with reluctance, as though she had refrained from speaking it for centuries. She took another step back, her face solemn. “I need to find Drakon.” And without another glance at us, she whirled and began rushing off out of the room again.

“What about us?” I demanded after her.

She paused. “Tomer will show you to a place where you can stay. Our guest suites. You’ll be informed of our actions in due time.”

Before I could argue, before I could protest her dismissal, she turned and ran out of the room, her dress billowing like clouds behind her.


	54. Chapter 54

**CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR - RHYSAND**

The sea clapped against the rocky base of the Prison. Ravens and vultures swarmed in slow, ominous circles above the crown of the place, searching for any disposed corpses of inmates who had been killed by internal enemies. Such corpses were usually tossed into the sea, never given the dignity of a proper burial or rites of any kind. They were not considered worthy of such things--they were outside of our traditions, our religion, our rites. I had not decided this. Centuries, millennia of High Fae rule had dismissed them as extra, outsiders.

But perhaps they were the only thing that could save us now.

Or they could destroy everything.

Either or.

“How do you propose going about this?” I asked Amren, my arms folded across my chest. “You know as well as I do that cannot release inmates from the Prison.”

“You can’t,” Amren said, the brisk wind blowing her black face over her cheeks and small chin. Her silver eyes were narrow as she glared at the stone within which she had been locked for millennia. That should would even come this close astounded me. “For one thing, you don’t have the authority. For another . . . you can’t read the Book.”

“So why are we here, Amren?” I snapped. I could be going after Feyre right now--I could be across Prythian at this moment. If she was wasting my time . . .

“We’re here to unleash the Fomorians,” Amren said, “but only I can read the spell. I need you to control them once I release them.”

Deep dread seeped into my bones and my mouth went dry. I got the very distinct feeling that I was about to make a terrible mistake in letting Amren do this. But there was no other way to save my mate--to save Prythian.

I had done terrible things before to save what I loved. What made this any different?

“Aren’t you the one who is supposed to keep me from doing stupid things?” I asked, glancing sideways at her.

“If that’s why you asked me to be your Second, you made a horrible decision,” Amren said casually.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered. “What exactly do you expect me to do? How do you know they’ll listen to me.”

“I don’t,” Amren said, “but if there’s anyone they’ll respect, it’s you. You’re descended from one of their kings, after all.”

“That doesn’t make me their king.”

“No,” Amren agreed, “but it works in your favor.”

“If you get us killed--”

“There’ll be nothing more to be done then, will there?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Do you need to get closer?”

Amren sniffed. “Here’s fine.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the box, which she opened with no trouble. The sound of the Book’s madness and harsh judgments poured into my mind and I cringed. It occurred to me for the first time that Amren had spent an awful lot of time in the company of this book lately--without Feyre or me there to support her. I hadn’t stopped to think what the effect on her might have been. She hadn’t seemed different. But had I been too distracted to wonder?

“Why are you doing this, Amren?” I asked in a low voice. It wasn’t a challenge, nor a reprimand--just a question.

“Do I need a reason?” she asked, steel edging her words.

“No,” I said, “but I thought I’d ask.”

Amren’s lips curled back and her fingers clutched the Book tighter. “I spent a long time in there,” she said. “Me and others like me. Perhaps we were criminals--war criminals. We did horrible things to the High Fae, so perhaps we deserved our fate. But maybe--just maybe--we didn’t.” She drew in a deep breath through her nose. “Maybe we were just defending what we loved. What was ours, before the Mother decided to bring you lot about.” The bitterness in her tone was undeniable. “This . . . this form is a punishment. I’m still trapped, I’m sure you realize. I’m still in a prison, though I’m not in there.” She glared at the stone island before us. “This is my punishment for not _understanding_ those who locked me away. If I hated them so much--perhaps a more fitting punishment would be to make me one of them . . . one of you.”

Cold fear, not unlike what I usually felt around Amren, seeped through my blood. I had suspected that she hated her form, hated being High Fae, but I hadn’t realized . . . she had never been freed from the Prison. Whatever power governed the island had granted her a false freedom--the opportunity to walk free, but in a form she hated, forced to live among the enemies that had forced her into the Prison in the first place.

Some ancient instinct in me said that what Amren was about to do was far from a recent decision. Perhaps she had always had this hope in her mind, that she would be able to free her people if she could get the tools she needed. I wondered if perhaps her decision to be my Second had been part of a plan she’d been brewing for millennia to break free from her imprisonment and free her people as well.

I tried to feel betrayed by this possibility.

But then I realized that I would do--had done--exactly the same thing.

“Are they going to destroy Prythian, Amren?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice level, hiding my fear, though I was sure she could sense it anyway. I had fought so hard, so long, to protect this place. My home. And I had thought that she had always been supporting me in that struggle, in that fight. Had I been wrong all the time?

“I don’t know,” she confessed, the stress showing in the crinkle of her eyes. “I don’t want them to. I think we can keep that from happening. But maybe the way to save Prythian isn’t by keeping it the way it’s always been.”

I swallowed and looked back out to the Prison. Perhaps she was right, and perhaps I had been thinking the same thing for a good long while now. If anyone was proof of this . . . it was Feyre. My mate, who was blurring lines between human and High Fae and lesser fae, who was breaking down our traditions and our boundaries and uniting ancient enemies. For her . . . for her I could do the same.

“Go on then,” I said, gesturing to her. I realized I could be signing my own death warrant, or maybe Prythian’s, but . . . I was out of options.

Amren nodded. She took a step toward the edge of the cliff where we stood. The pewter sea spread before us, separating us from the island itself. It lapped against the stone base hungrily, as though it longed to consume whatever lingered inside.

She opened the metal pages of the Book of Breathings between her palms. She tipped her chin up and, rather than reading, began to recite words in a language that I recognized deep in my bones but could not understand. It sounded vaguely like Illyrian, but it certainly wasn’t the same. Dread and anticipation sluiced through my veins and my throat tightened as the words filled the crisp air, echoing over the crashing, violent waves.

 _Feyre, forgive me_ , I thought. _I’m coming for you. Like I promised._

Amren’s spell went on and on, longer than I had expected, and I felt the magic surging through the earth at my feet. It sent ripples out over the choppy surface of the water, making whitecaps leap from the surface like porpoises. Then, when it struck the island, there was a deep tone, like the sound of a gong. I couldn’t help it--I took a step back, watching the island with sharp focus.

Then I saw it--a crack, crawling up the side from the base in the sea. A monstrous roar, not one made by a creature but rather from the rushing of wind, poured forth, along with a dense black fog that swirled over the the roiling sea and crossed the channel toward us. I summoned my wings, drew my sword, did what I had to in order to prepare for the arrival of these monsters older than Prythian, older than the Fae.

There was a clatter and Amren dropped the Book of Breathings, stumbling back from it with wide, shocked eyes and trembling hands. She looked up in awe at the black cloud roaring toward us, and I saw her sink into a deeper crouch, as though even she did not trust the beings she had unleashed.

The black cloud circled all around us, the roaring accompanying it until I could hardly hear by on thoughts. But then, with a suddenness that startled me, the cloud vanished in a blink, leaving behind figures--hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.

Amren and I were encircled, and we wordlessly stood back-to-back, our eyes scanning these terrible beings that had emerged before us.

They were massive--seven, eight, nine feet tall. The ones closest to us were vaguely like men in shape, though they were of a variety of builds. Some were hulking mountains with curved horns upon their heads and jutting jaws with dripping fangs. Others were elegant, slender, with the bearing of the noblest Fae. Some were winged, some were serpentine--there was as much variety among them as there was among the fae. But one thing they all had in common: they were terrifying.

One of the tall and elegant ones approached us, towering over us like a tree. There was an ethereal glow about them. I could not tell their gender, for their hair was a veil over their eyes and their lips were thin and shapeless. Yet their long, tapered fingers folded together before their chest as they examined Amren and me.

“The High Lord of Night,” they purred, and I sensed them looking me up and down though I could not see their eyes. “You have come and gone many times in your rule, and yet you have never deigned to visit us.”

“He visited the Bone Carver,” corrected one of the more brutish beasts nearby.

“Ah, yes. The Shaper of Fates,” said the first. “Did you ever wonder what he carved into the bone you gave him all those months ago?”

I swallowed and did not answer. Of course I had wondered.

“He carved this moment--the day you would choose to damn your world in the hope of saving it.” A dark chuckle. “Yet I wonder . . . why would you be so foolish?”

“I am not a fool,” I finally said. “I am a desperate man whose world can only be saved by old methods. Your power is perhaps the only thing that will keep this world from being torn apart.”

“How do you know that we will not tear it apart ourselves? Eliminate the damned Fae and restore the world to how it was before?” The thin lips turned up in a wicked grin.

“I don’t,” I admitted. “But the Angus, son of Dagda, has set his sights on this world again. And perhaps the only people he has wronged more than mine is yours.”

Indeed, there was a ripple of rage through the crowd of monstrous beings. “King-Killer,” one of them spat.

“I do not pretend to have anything more in common with you than a drop of blood,” I said, “but I hope we might work toward the same goal: stop Hybern, save Prythian. Restore balance.”

The nails on the long fingers of the slender Fomorian clicked as they drummed their fingers together. “Your definition of balance is perhaps not the same as ours.”

“This may be true,” I conceded. “But, if you are willing to work with me, alongside me, to rid Prythian of the villainy that seeks to destroy it, then perhaps we could come to a better agreement on what such a balance is.”

The fingernails clicked again. Then the thin lips parted and the obscure face turned to Amren. “The Tiny One,” it said, sounding somewhat surprised. “Are you responsible for our release?”

Amren only nodded.

“A Fomorian allied with a High Fae,” mused the slender figure. “How long?”

“Centuries now,” Amren replied tersely. “I like him, for what it’s worth.”

The slender Fomorian chuckled. “Not much. But it’s something.”

“Is my family here?” Amren asked, and I almost jerked in surprise. _Family_. I had never imagined--never suspected that Amren would have family of any kind. I’d thought she was the only one. I’d also never guessed that she was Fomorian.

Another click of nails. “They never were, Tiny One.”

Amren did not show any reaction, but I saw her nostrils flare. Disappointment. There was disappointment in her eyes. I found myself regretting those centuries of not asking. I’d been trying to respect her and her history, but . . . now I wished I knew.

“You want us to fight with you?” the slender one asked. “Defeat your foes on your behalf?”

“Defeat Angus, King of Hybern,” I said. “He is my greatest foe, along with the human Jurian. The Spring, Autumn, and Dawn Courts oppose me as well, but they are hardly worth your attention.”

The slender one smirked. “We have spent millennia locked away in a rock. Everything is worth our attention. We wish to see what the High Fae have done with our land in our absence.”

“Ask your kinsman in the forest,” Amren suggested. “In the unclaimed land surrounding the sacred mountain. Some of your people remain there, undisturbed, and have since your banishment, as acknowledgement of their actions during the wars.”

“Their cowardice,” spat a different Fomorian, one with four arms and green skin. “They turned their back on their people. I hope millennia of solitude was worth it.”

“Seek them out or don’t,” I said. “It’s up to you. But Angus is on the Fortunate Isle, across the sea. He’s going after the Stone of Danann. He wants to be High King.”

A round of hisses and jeers arose from the Fomorians. “He does not deserve such a title!” a Fomorian with a boar’s head proclaimed. “We will not bow to him!”

“Is there any you would bow to?” I asked, forgetting to hide the trace of insolence in my tone. If caught, I could easily be killed for such a thing. I needed to be more careful.

The slender one looked me up and down again. “That remains to be seen. And depends on what the Shaper of Fates carved into that delightful bone you gave him.”

“As a sign of good faith, I request that you refrain from harming innocent Fae in your path,” I said.

“No fae is innocent!” growled the Fomorian with the boar’s head.

I bristled. “You forget that time is tricky. Some fae were not yet born. And many fae are the descendents of Fomorians like yourself. Slay with abandon, and you spill your own blood.”

A small smile lifted the thin lips of the slender one. “You speak wisely, Prince of Night.” The fingernails clicked once more. “What do you hope to gain from this, High Lord? Power? Glory? Vengeance?”

I leveled my gaze at the slender one. “Only the safety and security of my mate and those we have come to love.” I wasn’t sure if the Fomorians could understand my motivations. All the horrible stories I’d heard growing up suggested that they were incapable of such emotions. But what I knew about Amren--the friendship we had formed, and her plea for her family--perhaps they would hear me. Hear me, and understand.

The slender one straightened and looked out over the crowd of Fomorians. In a tongue that I did not know but that I had heard Amren use minutes before, they cried out to their kinsman, perhaps explaining their new mission, their goal. And as they all launched from the ground into the sky, forming that black cloud once again, I spread my own wings and prayed to the Mother that I had not just made a terrible mistake.


	55. Chapter 55

**CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE**

I paced back and forth in the room where we had been taken and left by Tomer. It was a high room in one of the tower wings of the palace with a balcony overlooking the city below. A wide, flat bed was settled in the room and curtains of many colors draped from painted pillars, but I didn’t have the patience to appreciate the decor. I almost wore a path into the tile floor from pacing back and forth so much.

“I don’t understand,” I muttered, gritting my teeth. “She just . . . _dismissed_ us!”

I hadn’t known what to expect from Miryam--a warm welcome or cool distrust. I had prepared for either scenario, but I hadn’t been prepared for what we’d received: openness followed by an immediate closing off. She hadn’t even tried to introduce us to our grandfather or even stayed to learn how and why we had come the way we had. She’d just . . . run off.

“I feel terrible,” Elain said from where she sat on a low cushion. “It’s my fault Hybern can make it in at all.”

“He might have killed or tortured you if you hadn’t,” Lucien said from where he stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. She leaned into him, but her pink lips were in a woeful pout.

“I’ve put them all in danger!” Elain protested. “What if they’re not ready to fight?”

“Then they’re fools,” I said sharply. “If they knew about Amarantha, they had to have known this was coming. They had to have a backup plan in case their wards ever failed.”

“We don’t know a thing about these people,” Lucien said. “We don’t know what they’ve been doing for five-hundred years or even if we can trust them.”

“She seemed happy to meet us at first,” Elain said. “Until I told her what I’d done.”

“I think there’s a lot more to Miryam than meets the eye,” I said. I hadn’t dared reading her thoughts, not when I’d only just met her and she was likely to have strong mental shields. She was already unlikely to trust us, and I did not want to risk her hospitality any more.

As it was, Tomer had been wide-eyed and silent as he’d led us to this room, before shutting the door and leaving us without so much as an explanation. Something about us, about our mother, had them all frightened. If it was the fae gifts, I supposed that would make sense, but I could not wrap my head around why they would simply shut us out of any decision they were making, when we were so closely tied to events.

“Do you remember what Nesta said about our mother?” I asked Elain. “They came and took her away. They were angry at her for marrying our father. I want to know why.”

Just then, there was a knock on our door and a small figure came hurrying in, clumsily balancing a tray of food, which they set down on a low table. She began to turn away, but then I caught her scent.

“You’re human!” I exclaimed.

The girl flinched and looked back at me. “Yes,” she murmured. I realized she wasn’t much younger than I was, though the difference between us was stark now that I was immortal. The inhuman stillness I possessed that I no longer needed to practice, my posture, my attire . . . all these things marked me as High Fae. This girl possessed none of those things and was rather like the girls I’d remembered seeing back home. Meek, mild, unambitious.

“Are all humans servants here?” I demanded.

“Feyre!” Elain barked, appalled at my rudeness.

The girl’s cheeks flushed. “No!” she said. “Fae are servants too, and humans are on the Council . . . it’s not like Prythian used to be. It never would be like that. Not with Miryam here.”

I let a sharp sigh of relief. “I’m sorry for my rudeness. Thank you for the food. Do you know when they plan to call on us?”

The girl frowned. “I’m not sure they do plan to, Lady, but I’m not usually the one they tell such things.” She smiled apologetically. “I have to go. Enjoy your meal.” She slipped out of the room, almost tripping on the threshold.

“Were we like that?” Elain asked wistfully, her eyes following the human girl. “So . . . small?” I knew this was not the word she meant, but I heard her intention.

“Yes,” Lucien and I said at the same time. We glanced at each other and he grinned. Lucien kissed my sister’s temple. “You’re both High Ladies now.”

“Much good that seems to be doing us,” I muttered, reluctantly sniffing the food before putting it in my mouth and chewing. I hadn’t each much of anything in days, and only the aromatic scent of the food had been enough to remind me of it. Elain and Lucien joined me, and all the food quickly disappeared. “I need to know what’s happening,” I said, resuming my pacing. I paused at the balcony overlooking the city and saw a familiar shade of hair emerge on a tier far below me. She was meeting with a small group of people whose shapes I could not make out from here.

I glanced back at Elain then looked down at Miryam again. “I’m going to investigate,” I said.

“Feyre, don’t be ridiculous!” Elain argued.

“I’m not going to sit here and watch them hand Hybern the Stone,” I insisted. Then, with only a thought, I summoned by wings and leapt off the balcony, ignoring my sister’s squeak of alarm behind me.

I dropped like a shadow behind Miryam and she gasped, leaping almost a foot in the air. “Grandmother,” I said by way of greeting, looking at her and her companions coolly. I hid my reactions carefully as I saw a broad-shouldered man with golden-brown skin and dark hair--clearly someone of a southern origin, from a land like this with much sun and warmth. He had a wife forehead and strong jaw lined with a trim beard. His full mouth was turned down in a disapproving frown, and his almost black eyes completed the expression. His most striking feature, however, was the pair of golden wings extended from his back. Feathered, like a bird’s, not membranous like mine. But as I saw him beside Miryam, I knew exactly who this man was.

Drakon.

“Is this my grandfather?” I asked lightly, sketching a bow. “It is an honor to meet you, King Drakon.” Elain would be scandalized by my irreverence, but I had no patience for games.

Drakon looked at Miryam. “Daniela’s daughter?” he asked gruffly, jutting his chin at me. I marked the tone with which he said my mother’s name--he spoke it as though he had avoided saying it for a long time and was unhappy about having to say it now.

“One of them,” Miryam said quietly, looking embarrassed.

“And the others?”

“Elain is upstairs,” I answered, unwilling to let him ignore me. “My other sister Nesta is back in Prythian with the Cauldron.”

Drakon’s nostrils flared. “The Cauldron is active?”

“Very much so,” I confirmed. “Hybern had it for a while, but thanks to our fae gifts, we’ve been able to keep it away from him.”

“Ah, yes. The fae gifts,” Drakon said. “The reason my people have to go to war once again, after centuries of peace.”

“Surely they’ve been preparing for this,” I said. “Hybern has been planning this for a century.”

“Do not speak to me like I am a fool, Feyre Archeron,” Drakon said, his voice hard. “When Hybern was not punished after the War, we knew he would strike again. We have always been prepared for that. This does not mean we have to be pleased that the time has come now.”

Miryam squared her shoulders and faced me. “Rhysand promised that we wouldn’t be asked to fight again. Did he not tell you this?”

I stiffened. “This is not Rhysand’s fault,” I said. “We did everything we could to keep Hybern from your shores.”

“Then how did the king find out where we are?” Drakon demanded.

“He kidnapped Morrigan,” I murmured, and Miryam gasped. “We got her out eventually, but . . . he was able to draw the information out of her.”

“How?” Drakon asked. “Morrigan would never give up our location. She was our friend . . . we trusted her.”

“I was snatched by a Bogge while trying to rescue her, so I haven’t had the opportunity to ask,” I said, my words cutting. I looked between my grandparents, trying to find anything of mine in their faces. I saw Elain in Miryam, and I could see shades of my hair in hers and perhaps the same chin . . . but I could see nothing of us in Drakon. My sisters and I were pale, and neither Drakon nor Miryam had my mother’s blue eyes. Something . . . something was not right. “I know you want to blame me for this,” I said. “And if I were you, I would be inclined to agree. But I am here to help. I want to stop Hybern as much as you do. My sister, her mate, and I . . . we are two High Ladies and a High Lord. We’re powerful. We can help you.”

“Stay away from my armies, from my land,” Drakon growled, turning away from me. “They are not yours to command. You’ve done enough, Lady Feyre.” My skin prickled at the derision with which he spoke my name.

“King Drakon!” I called after him as he strode away. He ignored me. “Grandfather!”

He whirled, his nostrils flared. “I am not your grandfather!” he spat. Without another word, he turned and strode off into the palace, leaving me in his wake, stunned and confused.

“What does he mean?” I asked Miryam.

“Drakon always says exactly what he means,” she answered quietly, her eyes fixed on her departing husband.

“That does not answer my question.”

Miryam turned her whole body to face me and fixed her brown eyes on mine. “You look like your mother,” she said, her tone almost wistful. “And you act like her, too. You are strangers in this land, Feyre. This land was hard won, and we had worked centuries to ensure peace and tranquility. Your arrival here has placed an end to that. So do not stroll around demanding answers that you are not entitled to. No more leaping off balconies attempting to intimidate us with those wings of yours.” She glared at my dark appendages. “We’re quite used to wings around here. And if you have any respect for us as family or allies of your court, you will understand and accept our decisions regarding you--even if you don’t like them.” My lips parted as I prepared to argue, but Miryam shook her head. “Go back to your room. Someone will come for you when the island is secure again.”

I bit back the fury that threatened to pour out of me. I was not a child to be sent to her room when her parents had to deal with something! This was . . . this was unacceptable. But Miryam’s face said that she would not be argued with. And I knew that I would only hurt my chance of being allowed to help if I kept challenging her. So I leveled a stare at her and spread my wings, taking a great leap from the edge of the terrace and catching the wind, beating my wings to return me to the balcony far above me.

As I flew up, only one thought occupied my mind.

They would regret trying to lock up the High Lady of the Night Court.

-

I waited until dark. Then I left a note for my sister and Lucien and took off from the balcony, soaring up instead of down into the city below, catching an air current to lift me out of the caldera. I beat my wings, up, up, farther than I’d dared to fly without an air current lifting me up or Rhys flying beside me. But I had to. It was the only way to find my way out of this place.

I sucked in a breath when I was high enough above the trees to see the landscape. The island was huge--far larger than I’d expected. I looked around for where the Stone of Danann might be--some sort of high hill or a mountain or temple--but I saw nothing. It must be obscured in the thick forest somewhere, unless it was in the city itself. I looked at the stars and navigated north, knowing that this was the direction from which Hybern had come.

Instead of trusting myself to fly all the way to the coast, I decided to winnow short distances through the sky and rely on my wings to coast only if I felt a steady breeze. I could hear incredible sounds coming from the jungle below--a wild symphony that sang with joy and fearlessness . . . not the chaos and terror that often filled Prythian forests after dark. But, from among the new sounds and scents, something old and familiar struck my nose.

Impossible. Here?

This could be perfect.

I changed direction and began circling down into the trees, perching in the branches of an unfamiliar, gnarled tree as I scanned the terrain. I summoned a clean cloak that I had noticed in our bedroom, and I scavenged about the treed for vines and decent thickness and maneuverability. I crept through the shadows on the ground, arranging my trap, when I heard a terrible voice.

“There is no need to do that.”

I whirled to see the Suriel standing in the midst of the trees. It looked just as horrible as the other Suriel I had caught before, though perhaps it stood taller. I drew my sword and held it between me and the threatening faerie.

The Suriel chuckled--a terrible sound that skittered over my bones. “There is no need for _that_ , either. I have no desire to eat you, Lady Feyre of the Night Court.”

“Full from your last meal?” I asked.

“I am not like my siblings in Prythian,” the Suriel stated, taking a long stride toward me and then pausing. “Five-hundred years of peace has made me more . . . amiable.”

“Is that so?” I asked, not believing a word it said. I had not properly trapped it--it could still lie to me.

The Suriel sensed my disbelief and chuckled again. “Bind me if you please. If it will make you trust me.” It held out its hands before its body and I did not hesitate before tying the vines around its hands and then to the nearest tree. The Suriel simply looked at me with a wry, ugly smile as I accomplished this, the bones of its sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Now, ask your questions,” it said.

I took several paces from the Suriel and kept my sword at the ready. “What are Miryam and Drakon hiding?” I asked.

The Suriel grinned. “A great many things. Not all of which concern you.”

I snarled and the Suriel looked thrilled. “You said you were not like your siblings.”

“In some ways,” the Suriel said, its bone fingers clattering together. “I still like the game.”

“Fine.” I frowned and thought of a better question. One, in fact, that had nothing to do with Miryam and Drakon. “Is Rhys all right?” I asked. “Is my mate alive?”

The Suriel nodded. “He survived the fight, but his spirit is becoming desperate. He has released a force that he may not be able to control--a force far older than any of the High Fae. My ancestors.”

My blood went cold. He had said something about people in the Prison . . . but I had thought he could not release anyone. But he was alive . . . my mate was alive. “Where is he?” I asked.

“On his way here. Coming for his mate.”

I wanted to cry. Wanted to fall to my knees and praise the Mother, but I knew I did not have long before the Suriel would tire of the game. “Why did the people of this island take my mother away from me?”

“It is the law that those who are born on this island are forbidden from leaving . . . so that if any are born with the fae gifts, they are kept within the wards of the island, within safety. Your mother disobeyed that law to find her mate. And thus, you exist.”

“So it wasn’t about her mating with a human?” I asked, surprised.

“No. Humans and Fae are equal here, and there are no laws about intermarriage. Only that no one leaves the island.”

A chill of a different sort ran through me. “A final question,” I said, and the Suriel cocked its head. “Drakon said he is not my grandfather. Who is?”

A terrible grin stretched across the Suriel’s face. “You have met your grandfather before, High Lady. Though I cannot promise that you will be glad of it.”

“I am tiring of the game,” I said, raising my sword and glaring at the Suriel.

The Suriel laughed, and I knew I would hear the sound in my nightmares for weeks or months or years to come.

“Your grandfather is Miryam’s former lover. Jurian.”

Without another word, I slashed the Suriel’s bonds and ran as fast as I could into the jungle.


	56. Chapter 56

**CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX**

When I returned to the bedroom we’d been given, I picked up the note I’d written from the table beside where Elain and Lucien slept curled against each other, his nose buried in her hair. I was startled for a moment by just how _right_ they seemed together. And for an awful, wonderful moment, I felt my mate’s hands wrapping around my waist, his lips against my neck . . .

He was coming for me. That was what the Suriel had said.

The Suriel had said many things.

I turned away from my sister and my friend and tore my note into tiny pieces in my hands, walking over to the dim fire and tossing the bits of paper in. I stood and watched them burn for a while as I considered everything the Suriel had told me.

Jurian was my grandfather.

 _Jurian_.

That explained why I couldn’t see any resemblance between Drakon and myself. Why he had not been happy to see me . . . why my mother and her impact on this place was such a closely-guarded secret.

But _Jurian_?

Not only did his reactions to my sister and me on Calanmai make sense now, but it meant that my mother was immortal, or partly so. She was centuries old. She had seemed to age when I was growing up, but I suppose I hadn’t been old enough to really mark any difference in her if there’d been one.

I wished I could just talk to her. Figure out what all of this meant. Why had she lied to us, why had her family taken her back, and _where was she_? If she was here, did she know we had arrived? Was she even still alive, or was that false hope?

I didn’t have the stomach to think about the circumstances that had led to my mother’s birth. I wanted to ask Miryam about it, but it seemed as though this was a very sensitive topic, and not one she was inclined to discuss, even with me.

I turned and looked at Elain. How would she react to this? How would she react to knowing that our grandfather was partly responsible for her transformation, for ripping her away from everything that had been important to her. Looking at her now, I knew that she had found her own place--with her mate, with her magic . . . Elain was becoming everything she was meant to be. But it hadn’t been by choice. Jurian had taken that choice from her.

Regardless of how Elain felt, I knew how I felt.

Grandfather or not, I still wanted to kill him.

I realized I wouldn’t even get the chance to kill him if I did not ingratiate myself to Drakon--play by his rules, win his trust enough that he would allow me on the battlefield along his army. As much as Miryam’s words had irked me, she was right--this was not Prythian, nor was it the Night Court. My status as High Lady meant very little here, if anything. I felt like I had when I’d been a human in Tamlin’s court--the key to something important, but powerless to know or do anything about it.

I hated it.

Still, minding my manners here was the only way I could ensure my own safety and the safety of Elain. That, at least, was the positive to this situation--Elain had a place to be away from the fighting. I knew my sister was talented and powerful, especially now that she was a High Lady, but she was untested. I remembered my first days as High Fae, let alone as High Lady. It had not been an easy adjustment, and Elain would not be ready for a battlefield any time soon. So the sanctuary or internment we’d found here was at least a safe place for her . . . as long as no one attempted to harm her for her fae gift.

I gritted my teeth. It bothered me to no end that I had so little control over this situation. I had tried to channel Rhys earlier, getting my way by declaring my status and power, but it had backfired. I hoped I had not entirely ruined my chances with Drakon . . .

I blinked, noticing that my eyes had glazed over as I stared at the fire. I had to sleep. I needed rest if I was going to have any strength at all for the coming fight.

And I would most certainly fight.

-

The next morning, the same human servant from the day before brought us more food and showed us new clothes that had been provided for us. They were the same billowing white tunics like the one Miryam had worn the day before. I felt odd in mine, and I realized I had become quite comfortable in Night Court black. The jewelry was lovely, however--plates of gold for necklaces and similar earrings, with plenty of bangles to adorn our wrists as well.

Elain wore the look splendidly, of course. She added her own crown of flowers to her golden head and still hadn’t quite worked out how to manage her glamour, so a golden glow still surrounded her. Honestly, I thought she could wear a burlap sack and still look radiant. Lucien seemed to agree, because he stared at her for a good long minute before managing to kiss her. I was pleasantly surprised by the way _she_ eyed _him_ , since he was shirtless with only a tunic around his waist. His pale skin was marked with scars of varying sizes, but Elain did not seem to care, and she even took a moment to braid his hair the way she’d seen Tomer and the other men wearing it--because of course Elain would notice something like that.

It was odd seeing Lucien submit to having his hair braided, but it was good. And he seemed pleased as punch about the whole situation, so I didn’t even have it in me to tease.

I had decided not to hide what I had learned from the Suriel from them. They had been through too much and I did not want to lie to either of them, even by omission. Elain especially deserved to know. She was as stunned as I was, but she didn’t have much to say on the matter. Perhaps, like me, she struggled to feel any kinship with either Miryam or Jurian, and so it was difficult to feel much of anything besides resentment. Well, Elain wasn’t the sort to resent anyone, but I doubted she could claim to love our newfound family.

I told them the conclusion I’d come to in the night--that we would have to play politics in order to get anywhere near the battle or have any hope of stopping Hybern.

Elain and Lucien glanced at each other, a knowing look passing between them.

“Do you mind sharing?” I asked irritably.

Elain giggled. “Playing politics is something we’re quite good at,” she said.

My eyebrows lifted as I remembered. “Ah, that’s right. You managed to get Winter Court to take action.”

Lucien shrugged. “I have many friends.” Elain poked his ribs. I vaguely remembered the nickname Lucien had used to the Winter Court prince, but I had no inkling of their history . . . though it had to be fond. Elain, too, must have become a darling of the court.

A feeling of assuredness fell over me. Perhaps my greatest weapons were sitting right in front of me.

Elain rose from where she sat beside Lucien and knocked on the door. A fae servant walking nearby answered. “Could you tell Lord Tomer that we’d like to speak with him, when he gets the chance?” she asked sweetly. The fae servant smiled and nodded.

We ate our breakfast while we waited, and some time later Tomer entered our rooms, looking dignified but nervous. His eyes scanned all of us. Marking our casual postures, he relaxed a fraction. “Greetings,” he said, offering us each a bow. “You asked to see me?”

“Yes,” Elain said, gesturing for him to take a seat. Tomer accepted. “First, we wanted to apologize for our unannounced arrival yesterday, and we wish it could have occurred under better circumstances.”

“It sounds like they were beyond your control,” Tomer said, “but we do what we can with what we are given.”

“Of course. And we are sorry to impose on you. We know that our grandmother has a great deal to manage at the moment, though we so wish the opportunity to speak with her more.”

Tomer shifted. “I’m not sure that will be possible. She is a fighter herself and will be facing our foes.”

“When does the battle begin?” I asked. Elain gave me a look as though to say, _I’ll handle this_ , but my question did not seem to cause harm.

“Hybern’s men still lurk off at sea, but he is being closely watched,” Tomer answered. “Our greatest asset is the uncertainty of our numbers and strategy, so King Drakon will let them make landfall before any attack is made.”

“That sounds like a wise strategy,” Lucien said with a nod. “If there is anything we can do to help, you have only to ask.”

“King Drakon’s forces have been training together for centuries,” Tomer answered, sounding proud and almost defensive. “If you have knowledge of Hybern’s numbers or strategies, that would be helpful, but we will not need you on the battlefield.”

I clenched my fists and glared at Tomer, but Elain said smoothly, “Of course. We shall stay out of the way. Will we be allowed to explore the city or palace any further?”

Tomer grimaced. “The king and queen have suggested that it is better for your safety if you stay in your quarters for now.”

My upper lip began to inch away from my teeth in a snarl, but Lucien looked eyes with me and imperceptibly shook his head. He knew what words like that meant to me, but his russet eyes told me that this time he wouldn’t let them win.

“In that case,” Elain said delicately, “is there anything we need to know about this place, that we might not commit any embarrassing errors? I heard a servant mention a Council, for example?”

Tomer blinked but nodded. “We call Miryam and Drakon our king and queen, but truthfully they rule equally on a Council of twelve made up of humans, High Fae, and lesser fae alike--none more or less equal than the others. Drakon himself is not High Fae, as I am sure you know, but this did not change the fact that he was a noble warrior and a prince before the War. Miryam was gifted by the Mother with long life as fitting a fae, though her own magic is limited to her healing gifts. Other members are High Fae or human. Drakon and Miryam’s children fill one or two roles, but the Council is always kept mixed to ensure that the concerns of the various people on the island are addressed equally.”

“That sounds lovely,” Elain said with a sweet smile.

Tomer returned it with a warm look of his own. “It is. We are blessed to live here. There are troublemakers now and then, but we’ve kept peace for five centuries, and that is an accomplishment, I think.”

“Troublemakers?” Elain said with amusement. “Not like him, I hope,” she said, nudging Lucien playfully.

Tomer looked startled, but Lucien just grinned and said, “She hasn’t forgiven me for stealing her shoe this morning.”

I blinked. He had done no such thing.

They were . . . acting. Together. Like Rhys and I did. My snarl turned into a delighted smirk.

“No, no,” Tomer said, his shoulders sagging with relief. “You always get individuals who think themselves better than the others, and some descendents of Drakon who have refrained from marrying humans are among them. But they’re a nuisance more than anything else. You have nothing to fear from them.”

“See? Your shoes are safe, pea,” Lucien said. I wanted to gag.

“Indeed,” Tomer said with a smile.

“I suppose the fact that we were born off the island might cause others to distrust us,” said Elain as though she were speaking to Lucien. She turned to Tomer. “Please put in a good word for us,” she said. “We know we are strangers, but we do not wish to be. If any fear us . . . that would be just awful.”

I stared at my sister in awe, struggling to keep my face neutral. She was playing Tomer like a fiddle.

“Of course,” Tomer said with a nod as he stood to go. “I do apologize for my own behavior yesterday, but it was simply a shock to see mainlanders arrive here . . . especially Daniela’s daughters.”

“Our mother,” Elain said softly. Wistfully. “Is she here?”

Tomer looked completely flabbergasted by the suggestion. “I haven’t seen Daniela since she left the island over twenty years ago. Why on earth would you think she’s here?”

Elain’s cheeks went pink. “Oh. Just a foolish child’s hope, I’m sure. She used to tell us when one of my father’s relatives would die that good faeries would come take them away and they would live happily in peace and health forever. Her way of softening mortality, I suppose.”

Tomer’s brow knitted. “I thought humans on the mainland feared the fae.”

“Most do,” Elain said, “but it was just a story a mother told a frightened child. And I suppose I clung to the hope of seeing her again one day a little too tightly when she died. I’m sorry for the embarrassment.”

“Not at all!” Tomer said, his tawny cheeks darkening. “I have not been close with a human who died before. I am sorry for your loss. And I am sorry to hear Daniela’s passing confirmed.” A sad smile fluttered across his features. “And I am sorry that good fae did not come and steal her away again like in her story.”

Elain sniffled and I thought I even saw tears lining her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Tomer. Your words mean a great deal.”

Tomer sketched a bow. “I wish the circumstances were better--that you might get to meet your family in more pleasant times. But I will speak to the king and queen and see if they might allow you some freedom within the palace. I can see that you mean no harm, and . . . well, you are family.”

Elain beamed. “And I am honored to be.”

Tomer bowed once more before departing. As soon as the door clicked shut, I whirled to my sister. “Cauldron boil me,” I muttered. “You could put Rhys to shame!”

“Good acting runs in the family,” Lucien said, kissing Elain’s temple. She blushed--for real, this time.

“You have him eating out of your hand, Elain!” I exclaimed. “If you keep it up, we’ll be on the front lines by tomorrow!”

Elain’s expression darkened. “I know you have to fight,” she said, “but I do rather like it here. I wish it weren’t under attack . . . and I wish you wouldn’t have to go.”

“I know,” I said, rising and crossing to her so that I could hold her hand. “But I’ve survived worse. There is too much at stake not to face Hybern now. If he gets to that Stone . . .”

“I know,” Elain said. “Just be careful, please? I don’t want to lose you. Not when . . . not when we’re finally starting to feel like a family again.”

My chest tightened along with my throat, so I only nodded.

I would stop Hybern, and I would protect my sister. This time, I would not fail.


	57. Chapter 57

**CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN**

Elain’s magic worked, and by the late afternoon we were given a tour of the palace and the immediate grounds, and I used the opportunity to get a better sense of who and what we were surrounded with. I didn’t have the sense that we were being deceived or that anyone was anything other than they appeared, but oddly this put me on edge just as much as if had been another way.

We were still not allowed anywhere near Drakon’s meetings or the preparations for battle, but I stopped asking according to Elain’s advice. When she wasn’t listening, though, I spoke with Lucien and hatched a plan for how we could sneak out to join the fighting as soon as we caught wind of it.

The three of us walked down the corridors back to our room, but on the way we were stopped in our tracks by three large figures who stepped in front of us. They looked a great deal like Drakon, except their reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. All three had wings like his tucked against their backs. The three figures stood with their arms crossed in front of their chest, looking down at us with displeased expression. Lucien instinctively tucked Elain behind him.

“Can we help you?” I asked.

“You are the newcomers?” asked the man slightly in front of the other two. The three were obviously siblings, and I guessed the front one to be the oldest.

“Yes,” I said without elaborating. “And you are?”

“I am Abiron,” said the first, “and these are my brothers, Nikias and Damon. We are sons of Drakon and Miryam.”

“Ah! Family!” I said with intentional insolence. “It is an honor to meet you, uncles.”

The three men visibly bristled. “We do not consider Daniela kin,” Abiron growled.

“Why not?” I asked, feigning simplicity. “She is your half-sister, correct?”

“The child of a monster,” Damon spat. “And she betrayed our homeland by leaving to wed and human . . . and birthing you.” His brown eyes burned in our direction, and Lucien growled at the perceived threat.

“If she had not left, we would not be going to war right now,” Abiron said, “because the fae gifts would have been born here and would not have been able to open the gates to anyone.”

Elain huffed. “So you say. But if we had not been born when and where we were, Prythian would still be enslaved by Amarantha because Feyre would not have been there to stop it.”

“What do we care about Prythian?” sneered Damon.

“You tell me,” I said coolly. “Though I believe you are quite the set of fools if you think that Amarantha and Hybern would not have set their sights here eventually, and would have been even stronger in their attempts to breach your borders.”

“This is your fault,” Abiron declared, “and do not think that we will do what we must to defend our land.”

My nostrils flared at the very clear threat against us. I could read between his words--he would turn us in to Hybern if he thought that would protect his land. But I remembered everything that I had learned at Rhysand’s side about handling one’s enemies, and Elain’s recent negotiations and playacting rang still in my mind. So I smiled calmly, as though I were completely untroubled by his words. “Of course,” I said. “I would do the same.” And without being dismissed, I stepped around the sons of Drakon and proceeded down the hallway, Lucien and Elain beside me.

“I don’t like them,” Elain murmured, glancing over her shoulder.

“Neither do I,” I admitted. “But that just proves one thing.”

“What’s that?” Lucien asked, though the look in his eye suggested he already knew.

“We’re not safe here,” I said. “So we need to find a way out of here as soon as possible. Get to the coast and face Hybern ourselves until Rhys arrives. Because I’d rather be eaten by a naga than let those pricks turn me over to Hybern.”

Lucien shuddered but said, “I agree. So, what’s your plan?”

-

We heard later that night that Hybern had landed on the northern beaches and that Drakon’s elite forces were beginning to pick them off bit by bit. We only learned this because Elain had successfully wiggled her way to Tomer’s soft side, and he visited us to inform us quickly and quietly near sundown, only leaving when we had promised that we wouldn’t tell anyone he’d come.

“The lack of equipment will be a problem,” Lucien muttered after Tomer had left. “It will be too dangerous to engage outright without any sort of armor.”

“Long distance it is,” I agreed. “That’s more my style anyway. I’d prefer to gather information for the most part. Perhaps Hybern already knows where the Stone is, and if we can get there first, perhaps we can help defend it.”

“You would need to be careful,” Elain said. “You wouldn’t want anyone thinking that you’re trying to take the Stone’s power for yourself.”

“True,” I agreed. “This will be for scouting more than anything else.” I started rustling about in the room, looking for anything that might make a decent weapon in an emergency. I’d likely rely mostly on my magic, but I wanted something on hand in case of an ambush.

“Don’t get yourself killed, please,” I heard Elain murmur to Lucien. I glanced over my shoulder to see him tucking her into his arms and placing a kiss on her forehead.

“I promise I’ll come back,” Lucien said as he ran his hand over her shoulder and back. “Just cover our tracks and we’ll be back before you know it.”

“I doubt anyone will come looking for you,” Elain said, “but if they do, I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you, pea.” He kissed her lips and released her before turning to me. “Let’s go.”

We used our sly glances at maps and subtle reconnaissance from earlier to winnow outside the city into the jungle. I would have flown us, but I wasn’t strong enough to carry Lucien. So we relied on our markers and winnow short distances through the jungle, thankfully not encountering anything more deadly than a startled parrot. We finally made it to the fringe of trees along the northern beaches. We lurked in the branches of a gnarled tree and observed.

Hybern’s fleet had indeed landed, and there were more of them than I had realized. Not all of them had even arrived on land, but I counted one hundred dark blots along the shore on the horizon without trouble, and there were far more than that. The ships that had landed were being emptied of their crews and foot soldiers, who were prowling along the beach, waiting for commands.

I looked up to the sky, wondering where Drakon’s forces were, when the armies lingered on the beach for more than an hour. Then, at last, a streak of golden light fell from the sky and struck a cluster of soldiers, sending them flying through the air, screaming in agony. The surrounding faeries drew their weapons and searched for the attacker, but they could see nothing in the air. I watched the sky intently. Perhaps it was only my night-trained eyes that could see it, but there was a ripple in the darkness, in the very fabric of the world, and one of the winged soldiers appeared from the night for half a moment to send another golden arrow hundreds of yards away from where the first had fallen. He disappeared in a flash.

I grinned and watched the sky as not one, but at least a dozen warriors flashed through the night so quickly that they could not be seen, leaving Hybern’s soldiers panicking on the beaches below.

But, after a long volley of golden arrows, one bold soldier aimed his crossbow at the naked sky above and fired--

\--just as a warrior darted through the sky.

The warrior was struck by the ash bolt and dropped out of the sky like a bright stone, thudded on the ground and creating a cascade of sand in the air. The ferocious lesser fae pounced on him, and he was only able to scream for a moment before his throat was ripped out.

My stomach turned and I looked to Lucien, whose face had gone paler than usual.

“Did you think we wouldn’t expect you, Drakon?” called a voice from the midst of the soldiers. A voice that I knew too well. Jurian. “Give us a little more credit than that!”

Only the silence of the night answered him.

“Trying to be mysterious?” Jurian taunted. “We _know_ your tricks--we’ve played this game before. Don’t think we’re not ready!”

Then, Jurian whistled, and troops stationed at various points across the beached lifted large, complicated weapons and launched them into the sky.

Nets. Shimmering, vicious-looking nets.

Many hit the invisible warriors lurking in the darkness. Cries of alarm sounded in the air as the warriors were dragged to the earth and pounced upon, the sound of their screams filling the night.

“ _Shit_ ,” Lucien muttered. “How many did he bring with him?”

“I don’t know,” I said, waiting to see what Drakon would do next. But the night was as silent as before. “Is he even here?” Jurian’s laughter rang out over the fallen warriors, but there was no sound of Hybern. Perhaps he was lingering on the ships still at sea.

“Miryam, jewel,” Jurian sang. I could see his blue eyes flashing even from here. “Don’t you at least want to say hello? It’s been so long. Are you really going to let me slaughter your people just because you’re shy?”

I hissed. He was an absolute madman. “We have to help,” I whispered sharply.

“How?” Lucien asked. “They know your magic by now. They’ll know to look for you and come after you.”

I swore. He was right. I hadn’t expected Hybern’s forces to take out so many of Drakon’s men in one swoop. I had thought Drakon would at least have a fighting chance.

I had no more than finished this thought than the trees beneath us began to shake, along with the very earth. Jurian flashed a wild grin as though he were thrilled to be challenged at last. The next moment, a stampede burst from the jungle, massive beasts crushing Hybern’s smaller men underfoot as they tore across the beach toward the stronger forces near the shore.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien gasped. “I thought they were myths!”

“What?” I demanded, unable to tear my eyes away from the massive beasts with tree-trunk legs and hulking bodies--mounted by more of Drakon’s fighters, armed with gleaming weapons.

“Behemoths,” Lucien said. “No one was ever sure if they were fae or not, but . . . they haven’t been seen since before the War. Now I know why.”

I watched with a gaping mouth as the behemoths stampeded across the beaches, crushing their foes and goring soldiers with one of four massive tusks in their jaws. One was brought down by a well-placed spell and the warrior on its back leapt gracefully from his steed, firing more golden arrows into the sea of warriors.

Now it was really a battle.

More of Drakon’s forces poured from the trees and began to assault the invaders. Golden words flashed, archers shot arcs of ash arrows into the crowds of Hybern’s men, mowing them down. The urge to join into the fray sparked under my skin, but Lucien’s hand gripped my wrist to keep me back. I looked at him thankfully. Though I knew my power could make a difference, I also couldn’t risk being taken by Hybern.

But then the cannons came.

From the ships offshore, massive explosions rang out as heavy cannonballs were fire onto the beaches. Hybern’s men scattered and I watched three of Drakon’s warrior be crushed beneath one. The second time a projectile came descending upon a cluster of warriors, I shot out my arm and created a shield of air around them, causing the cannonball to ricochet off and roll onto Hybern’s own men.

This--I could play defense.

I watched the sky and marked the trajectory of the cannonballs, and I was able to throw shields up before most of the targets, defending them long enough to allow them to scatter. None paused long enough to find the source of the magic that was saving them, but I didn’t care about that. As long as they lived to take out another round of Hybern’s men.

There was a lull in cannonfire and I looked out to sea, watching for the next volley. But then the sea stirred beneath Hybern’s ships as though a whirpool was forming beneath them. A long ripple formed across the surface of the sea, and in the next moment a massive monster the size of two ships put end-to-end leapt from the surface of the water and came crashing down onto the deck of one of the ships with cannons. The resulting splintering sound was heard over all the chaos on land, and it was followed by a shrieking groan from the scaled, plated creature with teeth visible from here. I imagined just one tooth was the size of me. “The leviathan,” Lucien breathed.

Shots and spells were fired at the leviathan, but it disappeared beneath the surface again, making it way to the next ship, which it took out with a clamp of jaws around its hull. Screams and hollers came from the ships as they took on water, and none could do enough damage to the monster to stop its assault.

Still, the army of Hybern rallied, and every blow or attack wrought by Drakon’s men were matched by Hybern’s forces. It seemed that the battle would rage on forever, but then a storm began to brew over the sea. Lightning flashed, and something sang in my blood at the sight of it. I watched as another flash streaked across the sky.

That wasn’t ordinary lightning.

I jerked up into a straighter position as I looked out to sea and saw a new host of ships arriving--but none of them bore the standard of Hybern. Instead, most of the ships bore flags of blue and gray, flapping menacingly in the rising storm wind. Other, smaller ships bore flags that I had not seen since I was a child, and I was sure I had to be imagining them now.

My father’s coat of arms.

I barely contained my shriek as a wave rose up before the approaching fleet and crashing into Hybern’s ships, assisting the leviathan in knocking them off-kilter. My focus narrowed to the ship at the head of the new fleet--the largest and grandest. At its bow stood a man with white hair snapping in the wind, his sapphire armor unmistakable even at this distance. Tarquin.

Another set of figures rose from the ship behind him and my stomach clenched as I saw large, membranous wings launch into the air, shadows swirling around them. I thought for half a moment that it was Rhys, but then I saw the snap of golden hair held in the Illyrian’s arms.

_Mor._

It was Mor and Azriel, come after me even after they had just escaped Hybern themselves.

Finally, a third figure soared through the air beside them, wingless but thrumming with power. The source of the storm--my eldest sister.

Fierce tears pricked my eyes as I saw those I loved coming for me, coming after me and Elain and Lucien. They hadn’t forgotten me or fled or fought elsewhere. They’d come for me.

I was done hiding. I snapped out my wings. Lucien protested, but I looked at him and he saw in my eyes that I was not going to be held back. So he released my wrist and I launched myself into the heart of the storm, determined to fight beside my court and end the assault on this land of peace.

For my friends, I would fight. For my family, I would fight.

And for all of Prythian, I would fight.


	58. Chapter 58

**CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT**

I broke through the night, feeling the wind against my body and wings as it caused my hair to whip about my face. I could taste the brine in the air and the droplets of water on my face where both from the rain and from the cascades of ocean being cast up by the leviathan and by Lord Tarquin’s magic. I flew toward where Azriel, Mor, and my sister were approaching the shore.

“Azriel!” I called, frantically waving as he touched down and released Mor from his arms. She went bounding across the sand, her weapons already drawn, and began laying waste to the foes in her path. Azriel leapt up into the air again to meet me. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

Azriel’s shadows mixed with the streaks of rain down his face. I saw a new mark on his forehead, one that I didn’t recognize. “We routed the armies in the Spring Court and enlisted Tarquin’s fleet to get us here.”

“How did you get through the wall?” I asked.

“Nesta and the Cauldron,” Azriel said as he drew Truth-Teller. “She opened the wall just enough to get us all through and then closed it behind her.”

I looked over to where my sister was hovering in the sky, the source of the thunderstorm that was wreaking havoc on the beach. If I had ever feared that having her mortality taken away would ruin her, I had no such fear now. Nesta was radiant, powerful, unstoppable.

“Are those my father’s ships?” I asked Azriel, looking out to sea.

“We met them on our way, after we’d passed the wall.”

“The humans don’t plan to fight, do they?” I asked, feeling slightly panicked. “They don’t stand a chance!”

“They do,” Azriel said. “They’ve brought along the tools they used to fight in the War. They’ve been preparing for this.”

I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t sure I could fight off Hybern and protect the human fighters all at once. “Have you seen Hybern anywhere?” I needed to shout now because the gale was whipping up to a whistling pitch.

“We saw a ship away from the others to the west,” Azriel replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s there!”

“I’ll go after him with Nesta,” I said. “Join us once you have a handle on this mess.”

Azriel nodded and beat his massive wings to propel him further into the air.

I direct my own wings to carry me through the air toward Nesta. “Nesta!” I called. She turned to look at me, and I knew at once that this time, she was completely in control of her magic. No Cauldron was consuming her, though I could feel her drawing on its strength.

“Feyre!” she gasped. “You’re all right!” She carved out a space of calm beside her so that I was no longer being battered by the storm.

“For now,” I said as I slipped into the calm air. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you. Where’s Elain?”

“Safe in Miryam and Drakon’s palace,” I said. “Azriel told me he saw Hybern coming ashore further west. I want to cut him off before he gets too far. Want to help?”

“With pleasure,” Nesta said, flashing her teeth. She manipulated the wind around and beneath her to carry her through the sky, and we flew side-by-side along the beach. I used my shields of air to block any projectiles launched at us, and Nesta sent bolts of lightning into the ground wherever our attackers stood. Below, I saw Azriel and Mor fighting side-by-side, their power almost rippling off them as Mor cast black flames over her enemies’ heads and Azriel sent waves of blue killing power into whomever she’d marked.

When we had pulled further away from the fighting, Nesta quelled her storm and simply glided on the air as it stilled around us. Her brass hair was plastered to her forehead like mine was, and I gripped her arm with my tattooed hand to cloak us both in a glamour, making us harder to see against the dark sky.

Azriel’s information hadn’t been wrong, and we saw a ship unloading its men and equipment further along the coast. “You should know,” I said as I saw a familiar figure darting below. “Jurian is out grandfather.”

Nesta blinked. “Well, then.”

That was all there was to say on the matter.

We fell silent as we watched what happened below. I heard men arguing over which direction the Stone was, but the shouting almost reached a fever-pitch when a deep voice rang out. “SILENCE.”

The King of Hybern stepped further onto the shore from where he’d been lingering by the ship. He had lost weight since I had last seen him, and his face had become sallow and pitted. Whatever disease was affecting him, it seemed to be getting worse. He moved slowly, though he still emanated power with every step. “It’s here,” he declared, looking about.

“Of course it’s here!” Jurian snapped. “Unless you brought us all the way out here on a whim.”

Hybern glared at Jurian and the human cringed, clutching his stomach as Hybern punished his insolence. I smirked. “The Stone is here,” Hybern continued, “but so is the Cauldron.”

“What?” Jurian demanded. “We lost the Cauldron on--” His words were cut off by another wave of pain, but I had already started tugging Nesta away. I wasn’t sure how Hybern had sensed us, sensed the Cauldron, but we couldn’t risk being discovered.

We rose high over the trees, but just as we began to turn away, Hybern lifted his arm to the sky and a wave of white magic came barrelling toward us, netting around us just like the weapons Jurian had used on Drakon’s men. I attempted to shove Nesta around the way with a cry, but it was too late--the trap encircled us, dragging us down to the earth with a mighty thud. I gasped as the breath was knocking from my lungs and sputtered to get the sand out of my mouth, but it remained in the crevices between my teeth. I fought against the white magic pinning me to the ground, but it was as though stones were set upon my limbs.

“Don’t exhaust yourself, Lady Feyre,” the king of Hybern said with a laugh as he stood over us. “I’ve learned a thing or two from the last time I had to trap you. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”

“Bastard!” I spat.

Hybern laughed again. “Call me anything you like, but I’ll take that Cauldron back now.” His black eyes turned to Nesta, who shrieked against her binds. “Little hellcat,” he purred. Nesta’s stream of curses was far more violent and colorful than mine.

Hybern snapped his fingers and the nets over us became coils and cuffs instead, wrapping around our legs, necks, and arms. Some of Hybern’s soldiers hauled us to our feet. I thrashed against their holds, but the restraints drained my strength. It wasn’t until I glanced down that I saw they had formed into the blue stone chains that had kept me contained on board his ship, too. If only Elain was here to get me out this time.

“Give me the Cauldron,” Hybern said to Nesta.

“Like hell!” she spat.

“Do it, or I kill your sister.” One of the soldiers holding me raised an ash blade to my throat, and my fae sense began ringing in alarm. _Danger danger danger_.

Still, I fought past the primal fear and growled, “You can’t kill me. You need me to activate the Stone.”

Hybern snarled and leaned closer. “That does not mean that I can’t injure you very badly before then.” He nodded and the ash blade slashed across my arm. I screamed as it tore through clothing and flesh, causing red blood to flow down my arm.

“Nesta, don’t!” I said despite the pain. Nesta saw the blood on my arm and her face went pale. I cried, “I’m healing already--don’t do it!” 

“You have a simple choice, Nesta Archeron,” said Hybern. “Save your sister, whom you love dearly, or save Prythian, a land you’ve hated all your life and which has done little to welcome you.”

“Don’t give it to him, Nesta!” I cried again.

But the torment was clear on my sister’s face. The wild emotions weakened her defenses. As her mental shields dropped, I saw the thoughts running through her mind. _I didn’t protect Elain. Couldn’t protect her. But Feyre . . . I can protect Feyre._

“Nesta!” I shrieked.

“Here!” she proclaimed, snapping her mental shields up and holding her arm before her. The air shimmered, and the Cauldron appeared on the blood-spattered sand before her. “Take it! Just leave Feyre alone!”

Several of Hybern’s men snatched the Cauldron and dragged it away. The soldier holding me twisted my injured arm and I screamed as the agony ripped through me. “I’ll leave her alone just as soon as I’m done with her,” Hybern said. Tears streamed down Nesta’s face and her eyes went wide as she realized what she had done.

“Feyre, I’m sorry!” she cried.

“It’s all right, Nesta. It’s all right,” I said, even as we were dragged across the beach and forced down onto our knees in the sand, ash daggers to our necks.

Hybern stood on the other side of the Cauldron, and at his command it filled to the brim with water. “I had thought that I would need to do this without help,” he said, “but it will be good to have additional strength at my side when we get to the Stone. The more to see my coronation, the better, after all.”

I could barely breathe. Not when Hybern murmured a spell from his book over the Cauldron. Not when the waters within the basin began to glow and gurgle and stink. Not when Jurian presented him with a box and Hybern emptied the contents into the Cauldron . . . eyeballs, fingernails, talons, locks of hair, and other various body parts. They entered the Cauldron with a splash and a hiss, and then Hybern pulled one last thing from the box.

A lock of flaming red hair.

He tossed it into the Cauldron and the very earth trembled and then went still with horrible silence. Then the Cauldron erupted. Green and purple bubbles and a stench like nothing I’d ever experienced spewed over the lips of the Cauldron. Nesta screamed as fully-formed beings started bolting from the Cauldron’s waters, leaping into the air with shrieks and cries that seemed to break my very bones. Hundreds of monsters, faeries like I had never seen before, poured out of the basin, a fresh-formed army for Hybern formed from the remains of his ancient allies.

The very last scrap of instinct that remained in me thrashed against my restraints, even when the soldier on my right elbowed me in the jaw. I had to get away, had to warn the others . . .

After several long minutes of seeing Hybern’s face lit from beneath with an evil light--when the sky and beaches were full of new allies to do his bidding--the Cauldron stilled. I let out a breath, praying to the Mother and all that was good that it was over, that the last hadn’t taken . . .

But then an elegant white hand tipped in red nails curled over the lip of the Cauldron.

I swear time stood still as I watched the dripping wet red hair rise up out of the Cauldron, as slow and calculating as a snake. Creamy white skin reflecting the moonlight, even more so with the sheen of water coating it. But what held me most was the eyes--deep, black, and merciless.

The eyes of a queen who had held Prythian between her elegant fingers for five decades.

The eyes that had shone with delight as she had crushed my body with little more than a thought.

The eyes of the greatest enemy I had ever known.

The eyes of Amarantha.

Bright red lips peeled away to form a vicious smile. “Hello, Feyre, darling,” she purred.

I couldn’t even scream.

The terror in my bones was so profound it held me hostage more surely than the binds around my arms and legs did. My heart raced so fast I could not even feel each heartbeat, and the tears in my eyes forces as she descended from the Cauldron and stood clothed in a red gown before me.

_Red. The color red. The color of blood. The color of death. The color of--_

“Are you the bitch who tried to kill my sister?” Nesta demanded. Her sharp voice cut through the panic that was overwhelming my mind, but it did nothing to quell the fear that rose in me when Amarantha turned her black eyes to Nesta.

“I didn’t simply try,” Amarantha said. “I succeeded. It seems she simply became the High Lords’ darling . . . and got very, very lucky.” Amarantha turned to look at Hybern. “Angus!” she cried, a delighted grin splitting her face. “Making human scum into High Fae now, are we?”

“I’m only responsible for the hellcat,” Hybern said. “An experiment which proved to be a mistake. As was allowing you such freedom all those years, it seems.”

Amarantha’s smile faltered. “Oh, but you must admit it was terribly fun to watch.”

“You had to play with her, didn’t you?” Hybern snapped. “You couldn’t simply kill her outright, even once you suspected she was the Dreamer. You became cocky, Amarantha, and sloppy. You know how I despise sloppiness.”

Jurian chuckled beside Hybern and Amarantha fixed him with a lethal glare. “I think I preferred you on my finger, you cretin,” she spat. She looked about, using a touch of magic to wring out her clothes and hair until she was as pressed and clean as she’d always been Under the Mountain. “Where are we exactly, Angus?”

“The Fortunate Isle. We’re right on top of the Stone of Danann, and I’ll finally rid myself of this Mortal Curse that you failed to help me end.” Hybern looked Amarantha over in distaste.

“And become the High King you were always meant to be,” Amarantha purred. My stomach turned--it was nauseating seeing her try to ingratiate herself to the tyrant she had served. Finally, she turned back to me. “I very much look forward to killing you again, dear.”

Nesta spat at her feet and was rewarded with a punch in the face by the soldier holding her.

“Careful, I might still need her,” Hybern said without much enthusiasm.

Amarantha’s dark eyes marked the similarities between Nesta and me. “Which one is she?” the wicked queen asked.

“The fae laugh,” Hybern said shortly.

“Her? The fae laugh?” Amarantha threw her head back and her own laugh rang over the beach. It would have been a pretty laugh if she were not perhaps the most evil thing I had ever known. If I had not remembered her laugh as she had watched me be tormented for months on end. “I never expected all three to come from the same blood.”

“You can blame him,” I said, jerking my chin toward Jurian. “He’s our grandfather.”

It was as though Nesta’s lightning had struck everyone there. Jurian’s mouth fell open and Amarantha’s look of shock became one of wicked glee. Hybern simply groaned, seeming far too irritated by the host of people around him.

“Impossible!” Jurian gasped.

“You should ask Miryam about it if she ever deigns to speak to you again,” I taunted. My strategy worked--Amarantha’s attention was drawn away from my sister and me and she proceeded to torment Jurian about the family he’d never known he had and that he was now helping to end. While she was distracted I managed to reach my hand out to Nesta and squeeze her fingers once in reassurance.

I had no assurance, not really. If Amarantha decided she wanted to kill me again, there was nothing that would stop her this time. But if I was lucky, perhaps I could spare my sister.

“Enough,” Hybern said at last. “Do not think I will let you be the main player in the game this time, Amarantha. You will not lay a finger on either of them until I am High King, and at that point . . . perhaps I might let you play. But until that time, the females remain in sound body and mind--I cannot risk anything going wrong.”

Amarantha’s red lips formed a pout, but she cast an eager glance over her shoulder at us. “As long as I get to kill her again eventually,” she said, “I can be patient.”

“Then let’s go.” Hybern summoned the Cauldron away and gestured for his men and allies to follow ahead of him. The hordes of winged faeries above us resumed their screeching despite their eerie silences of moments before. Without so much as a blink, Amarantha caused the trees to bend away from our path.

With no way out and no help in sight, my sister and I were dragged deep into the jungle, mere pawns in Hybern’s vile scheme.


	59. Chapter 59

**CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE**

Neither Nesta nor I said a word as we were led deeper and deeper into the jungles of the Fortunate Isle. Even the beasts Hybern had resurrected remained silent as they flew through the dark above us. I had tried to get a measure of them, but they were truly unlike anything I had seen before. Most of them were, anyway--I could see a few Attors in their midst, though it seemed as though the Attor that had taken a personal interest in tormenting me had not been brought back.

A small mercy.

Even the night air was humid, and the binds restricting my power were heavy and slowed my pace, to the displeasure of the soldiers flanking me. Every so often they gave me a swift kick, but I did not dignify them with a response. Their jabs were nothing compared to what I had been through before, and nothing, I was sure, compared to what I was about to face.

My only hope was that I would be able to get Nesta out before she was killed. I didn’t care about myself anymore. I’d known for a while now that I would be willing to give my life a second time to save Prythian. But my sister didn’t have to.

The one fear that stung me deeply was that I might not get to see Rhys again before I died. The Suriel had said he was coming, but there was no guarantee that I would last long enough now that Hybern had me and Amarantha was at his side. I had never gotten to see him and apologize for my hatefulness, for how badly I had hurt him with my careless words. I’d written the letter, but that was nowhere near enough. The only thing I wanted besides my sister’s safety was to know Rhys’s touch one more time--even if it was the last thing I ever felt.

My heart ached for what this would do to him. Losing me, a second time. There was no way to save me this time--I was sure the High Lords’ gift would not work again, even if all seven were on the island. I prayed to the Mother that he might find a way to endure, that even when I was gone he would find a way to heal, to continue on in the name of our court.

 _Rhys_ , I said, unsure if he could hear me down our bond. _I love you. Forgive me for leaving you. I’ll be waiting for you, when it’s time for you to join me._

I did not let my resignation to my fate keep me from preparing--from choosing how it was I would die this time. I would not give Amarantha or Hybern the satisfaction of determining my fate, of taking me out in any way that was not befitting to a High Lady of Prythian. I would not be a sacrificial lamb--I would be a lion, and I would take out as many of my enemies as I could before they managed to bring me down.

One thing that did strike me and that brought me the slightest bit of reassurance was that I was not a mortal girl facing Amarantha now. I was a High Lady of Prythian, and I was a true match for her now. I was everything that she had desired to be--the possessor and wielder of all the High Lords’ talents. She had taken them during her reign, but she’d never been able to use them . . . and thank the Mother for that. But I could use them, and if I could only figure out a way to free myself from my bonds, I might have a fighting chance at saving my sister.

It was a long walk through the jungle, but soon we neared the heart of the island. I could sense a change in the earth, an ancient thrum of magic in the air. Faelights blinked into existence all around us as we approached, and native lesser fae flitted through the air like glowing birds. If it had been any other circumstance, I might have been able to appreciate the beauty of the place.

At last, we broke through the brush to a wide clearing, in the middle of which was a rise of earth. It was hardly a hill, and most certainly not a mountain. The plants and trees formed a perfect ring around the place as though the magic forbid them from approaching any nearer. I was marched beside my sister across the bare grass, and I gasped as I felt the magic surge up through my feet. With the magic, a sweet, soft voice filled me.

_Visitors. So long since visitors. Is one worthy? Are any ever worthy?_

I could not tell if anyone else heard the magic, but Amarantha’s face was one of awed delight. Hybern’s was expressionless as he strode up the rise in the earth, though his black eyes glinted.

At the top of the hill was a ring of tall stones, all of them larger than any of the fae in our company. There were markings on the stones . . . markings like the lettering that had been inscribed in the Book of Breathings. I could not read them like this, but I knew Amren could. My mouth went dry as I realized I had no idea what had happened to her.

The markings in the stones began to glow as we approached. Once we had reached the top I could finally see the stone in the exact center of the clearing, marked exactly the same way as the others. It was set upon a stone foundation, and it glowed with magic just like the old temple had on Calanmai when I had placed the stag’s blood there. Besides the obvious hum of magic and the tremendous age of the stone, the monument was oddly mundane . . . simply a lump of stone a head taller than me, with no particular shape or structure. A narrow boulder. Yet I knew what it was without anyone having to say it.

The Stone of Danann.

Amarantha approached the ring of stone surrounding it, but Hybern snatched her wrist. “Don’t,” he growled. “It has not yet been prepared.”

“Prepared?” Amarantha asked, raising an eyebrow.

“First, the Cauldron.” Hybern summoned the artifact before him and the echo of magic that trembled in the earth almost knocked me off my feet. “The circle is warded. It requires a sacrifice in order to pass through.”

“Ah, yes,” Amarantha said. “The Sevens’ Blood.”

“Exactly. So while _you_ proved most unhelpful in getting me the blood of the seven High Lords, _she_ will satisfy the requirement.” Hybern jerked his thumb at me and Amarantha glowered in fury and embarrassment.

That was interesting. Amarantha hadn’t _only_ wanted control over Prythian. She had been trying to obtain the blood of the seven High Lords to activate the Stone! Yet I knew from her interactions with Hybern that she had dallied far too long--that she had failed in her original task. I took grim amusement from this fact, though it did not spare me from the dread that sluiced through me like ice water at the realization that _I_ was the alternative.

I was dragged forth to the edge of the Cauldron and Nesta screamed behind me until she was struck by a guard. I struggled in vain as four guards held me. One tore away the sleeve on my right arm--bearing the tattoo signifying my rank.

Amarantha made an outraged noise. “A whore’s whore now, are you?” she spat. “That Rhysand thinks he’s so clever.”

“He _is_ clever,” I spat. “Many more times than you. So clever you never realized he was working against you the whole time!”

Amarantha sneers. “Well, that hardly matters now, does it?” She turned to Hybern. “Let me cut her.” I sucked in a breath and Hybern looked between us before grinning.

“Very well.” Then, he handed Amarantha not a knife, but a spear that he had strapped to his back--the Spear of Lugh, I realized as I remembered Macha’s words. “Put it directly in the Cauldron once you draw blood,” he instructed her. “I’d rather not lose half my army moments after resurrecting it.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Don’t kill her yet, please.”

“Believe me, I’d rather enjoy my vengeance,” Amarantha said. “I’m not about to end it before I can enjoy it.” Hybern just scoffed and shook his head.

Amarantha raised the spear against her side and angled its ashwood blade toward my exposed skin. She slowly, painfully, drew its tip along my skin, enjoying the sight of my blood erupting and mixing with the tattoo on my arm.

I screamed. The ash burned me as surely as a brand would, and my skin did not seal up again in its wake. Amarantha dragged the sharp end from the crease in my elbow all the way down to my wrist, where she twisted and cut deeper--straight to the artery. I gasped as the blood flowed more surely, spilling into the waters of the Cauldron, which consumed it hungrily. Too much, too much . . . I willed myself to heal, but I was bleeding too much.

“Enough, Amarantha!” Hybern boomed. “I still need her.”

Amarantha plunged the tip of the spear into the Cauldron and the basin again began to bubble over the edges. This time the stream had something of a direction. It poured uphill, somehow, to meet the wards between two of the massive stones. The air shimmered, and I saw the curtain of magic peel away in response to the Cauldron’s brew.

“Quickly,” Hybern said, seizing me by the upper arm himself before I could sink to my knees. “It won’t stay open long, not without the fae song.” He dragged me up the hill and through the wards, Amarantha behind us. I could hear Nesta screaming and crying, but she was powerless to stop them. Hybern lifted my still-bleeding arm to his mouth and I almost vomited as he licked the red flow from my skin, taking in the Sevens’ Blood himself. “Now is the time, Cursebreaker. You have the Fae Oath. Speak the truth. Speak and declare me the High King of Prythian and the mortal realm!”

“I don’t know how!” I said through gritted teeth, barely managing to speak through the pain. I was being honest--I couldn’t feel it the way I had when I had ordered the Cauldron to break its hold on my sister.

But Hybern struck me and said, “Speak it now!” He released my arm and strode toward the Stone of Danann, his hands outstretched. “My father thought he could keep me from my birthright, but I know it in my blood. I _am_ the rightful High King!”

I gasped for breath and clung to a scrap of consciousness as my blood continued to pour from me, and I watched in horror as Hybern stepped onto the foundation of the Stone. The runes covering the Stone glowed in a blinding blue, and the earth shook beneath us all. The magic rose up from the runes and latched onto Hybern’s legs like vines, and a manic smile spread across his face as the magic began to envelope him.

“No!” I wailed. It couldn’t be. We couldn’t have come this far only to fail now. I sagged, folding over myself as I watched the magic encapsulate the king of Hybern.

I was not prepared for the explosion.

I couldn’t draw breath before a shining cloud of blue light erupted in the night and burst toward us, sending me, Hybern, Amarantha, and the guards flying out of the ring of stone that surrounded the ancient artifact. The night sky was filled with screams of all kinds of fae, and I saw stars as I struck the ground. I groaned as the pain rocketed through me, but it was immediately followed by a wave of intense relief. Healing magic . . . _my_ healing magic.

My restraints had been destroyed.

As the strength filled me again and I regained control of my magic, I leapt to my feet and rushed toward Nesta, who had also been freed by the magic from the Stone. I gathered her up in my arms and cast a shield of night around us to fend off the lesser fae who were already scrambling to reclaim us. My eyes sought out the bright red blur that was Amarantha as she struggled to her feet besides the groaning mound that was the king of Hybern. He slowly rose to his knees and looked himself over, his face draining of color as he took in what he saw.

“No!” he cried. “No! It . . . it should have worked!”

Amarantha looked stunned but then unreasonably delighted. “It didn’t work! You’re not worthy!” she cackled. She turned her black eyes toward me and began to storm in my direction, unafraid of the magic I had used to cocoon myself.

“Fly, Nesta!” I told my sister, shoving her away from me. Her eyes glinted and she gathered storm winds around her to lift up into the air.

I cast a shield of hardened air in front of me and spread my wings to take flight, but Amarantha held out her arm and it was as though tremendous hands were pinning me by the shoulders. I sent a wave of fire at her but she flicked it aside as though it were nothing. She walked through my shield and seized me by the hair at my scalp, dragging me back up the hill to the wards that were just beginning to close. “That brute isn’t worthy,” Amarantha spat, “but I’ve conquered Prythian once before and can do it again!” She jerked at my hair and I shrieked and clawed at her arm, but she paid me no mind.

The only thing that gave her pause was sudden, terrible wave of silence that fell over the clearing.

All the chaos had stilled as the soldiers and guards looked up at the sky, where an enormous black cloud was drifting over the night sky, blocking out the stars. I snapped my head to Nesta to see if it was her storm, but she stared at the approach blanket of clouds with confusion on her face.

Amarantha did not allow the sight to distract her for long, and she continued dragging me up toward the ring of stones. But then, even she stumbled when a massive rumble shook the earth and the cloud above of shattered into hundreds, perhaps thousands of pieces, raining new beings down onto the ground all around us.

I couldn’t focus on that. I had to get myself released from Amarantha, and I thrust out my talons to rip into her side. She batted my hand away and turned to look up the hill, but in the next moment a wave of black cascaded over us and a massive beast stood between her and the Stone. She screamed at the sight of the creature--muscled and coated in silken ebony hair, its legs like a goats except the vicious talons that sprung from its feet. Its torso was bare and rippled with dense muscle all the way up to the broad shoulders, from which sprouted membranous wings twice as large as mine. The face was lethal--a demon’s face, coal-black like the rest of it, except for the glowing yellow eyes and dripping white fangs, the whole of it topped with a pair of elegantly arched horns upon its head.

Amarantha released her hold on my head and I hit the ground, and from behind the creature emerged a prehensile tail that curled around my waist and drew me toward it.

I did not scream.

I did not scream, because as the tail gently cradled me and pulled me away from danger, I was washed over with the scent of citrus, and jasmine, and the sea. I was not afraid of this beast.

For this beast was my mate.

 _Rhys_.

I had never seen him in his full beast form, and he had told me once that he did not like yielding to it, that he found it crude and unappealing. But as I beheld him with awe and relief and joy in my heart, I knew that he had shifted for me, to save me, and to protect Prythian.

The moment we made contact, the bond that had been weak and injured between us roared to life, igniting with a glow that rivaled the stars, and I was suddenly able to breathe better than I had in days. My heart beat stronger and I rush like nothing I had known surged through me. And, despite the chaos, and despite the blood on my arm and our enemies around us, I smiled.

Rhys roared at Amarantha, tucking me close to his body with his tail, and she stumbled back once more before taking in the sight of us.

“Why, Rhysand!” she snarled, a foul grin spreading on her face. “How lovely to see the beast unleashed!”

Rhys growled and hissed, and the waves of night that surrounded him surged toward Amarantha. She dodged them and her own power began to thrum off of her. She stared us down and began to channel it between her hands to attack us, but before she could do so, a projectile came whooshing through the air.

An ash arrow.

It lodged directly in Amarantha’s shoulder and she shrieked, whirling to face her attacker.

A slight figure with a golden mask like the ones Drakon’s soldiers had worn darted across the hill toward us, drawing another arrow. As she ran, she turned her masked face to Rhys and I knew without hearing it myself that she had sent him a message through her mind. She bolted to him and he extended a taloned hand. The moment she took it, night folded in around us and I was whisked away--away from the chaos, away from our enemies, and into the safety of my mate’s embrace.


	60. Chapter 60

**CHAPTER SIXTY**  

When the world righted itself I rolled across the ground, grunting at the pain in my body and gasping as dizziness stormed in my mind. I couldn’t tell up from down--I only felt the veining of wood beneath my arms and smelled roasting nuts in a fire nearby.

I rolled onto my stomach and paused to catch my breath, focusing on the natural patterns and knots swirling in the wood below me, anchoring myself to the firmness beneath the palms of my scraped hands.

Then, past the smell of the roasting nuts, a stronger smell wafted to me, and I slowly lifted my head. Across the wide, open room, an enormous black beast was collapsed on the ground, panting for breath like I was. And I watched as the shadows wrapped around it in a gentle embrace. The tail, the wings, and the fur vanished, and there . . .

Rhysand. My mate. My High Lord and savior.

He lifted his head and we locked eyes. Without looking away, I dragged myself up onto shaking legs just as he did. Then I ran for him, unwilling to know another moment outside of his arms.

He bolted across the room toward me as well, and every emotion flaring down our bond was equally displayed upon his face.

I leapt onto him and we crashed into each other, his arm banding around me to keep me from touching the ground again as he buried his face in my shoulder. My legs, still full of momentum, swung along the side of his body and his other arm scooped them up so that I was curled around him like a vine on a tree.

Rhys’s head shifted until he managed to get his lips on my jaw, and he kissed his way across my skin until he captured my mouth with his. My heart set to beating more intently than it had in ages--like it had a purpose. “Feyre,” he said against my lips. He pressed several kisses over my cheeks and eyes as he pulled me even closer to his chest. “Feyre, my darling.” His voice caught in his throat as he gasped, “My queen.”

“Rhys,” I whimpered, my hands tangling in the matted black hair on the back of his head.

Another broken sob escaped his lips and soon even he couldn’t support us anymore, and he sank down onto the ground, freeing one arm so that he could cradle my face between both hands. “Are you all right?” he asked, his violet eyes burning into mine. “Please, please tell me you’re all right.”

“I am now,” I said breathlessly, tears streaming down my face. “Rhys!” His name was all I could manage to say before I dragged his mouth to mine, kissing him slow and deep, as though he were the only thing in the world keeping me from starving to death.

He pulled away from me to look me in the eyes, and the joy in his own knocked the breath right out of me.

“Rhys, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the echoes of my hateful words ringing in my head even now.

“Shh,” he said, brushing the hair away from my face. “We can worry about all of that later. I just want to look at you.”

I snorted softly. “I’m sure I’m quite the sight at the moment.” I was sure there were bruises on my face and I was covered in sand, dirt, and blood.

“You’re radiant,” Rhys assured me, kissing my brow before touching his forehead to it. “Besides,” he added, “if we want to have a competition over who has looked the most monstrous recently, I think I _might_ actually stand a chance this time.”

I pinched him but I couldn’t help laughing. How I had missed his teasing! His insufferable, arrogant, wonderful teasing . . .

There was a soft sound of a throat clearing nearby, and I reluctantly turned my eyes away from Rhys. There, near the hearth, stood the slight figure in the golden mask that had shot Amarantha minutes before. Her longbow stood at her side, almost taller than she was, and a quiver full of ash arrows was slung over her back.

“Thank you,” Rhys said to her, “for getting us out of there.”

The woman nodded, but said nothing.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The woman paused, her hand lingering in the air before her as though she was afraid of something. Then she set her bow down and lifted both hands to her mask, pulling it from her brow. Golden-brown hair cascaded from beneath her helmet, and when her slightly uptilted eyes met mine, my blood turned to ice.

They were Jurian’s eyes.

My eyes.

“Mother,” I breathed. Rhys’s hands contracted around me but when I started to rise he helped me to my feet.

“Feyre,” my mother murmured.

I couldn’t rationalize her. Couldn’t reconcile seeing her standing there in the midst of this wooden hall--what even _was_ this place?--when for so many years I had thought her dead.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I asked. “Any of it? Why did you make me promise, when you knew what my promises mean?”

My mother flinched. She looked just the same as she had before she had fallen into the illness that I had thought killed her. Beautiful, with high cheekbones and a thin mouth that could be cruel if she desired--a trait I realized she had inherited from Jurian. “I’m sure Nesta told you,” she said. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I did.” Nesta’s voice came from another side of the room and I saw her striding toward us, looking as ragged as me but far more furious. “Look just where your protection has gotten us, Mother.”

“Don’t hold me responsible for the actions of a maniac king,” my mother snapped.

“I don’t,” Nesta said, “but I do hold you responsible for not preparing us. For lying to us. For leaving us.”

“I didn’t want to leave!” my mother protested. “My brothers took me against my will when I was weakest. I didn’t tell them about you because I knew they would drag you back here as well, and I already knew what kind of treatment you should expect. You were better off in Prythian.”

“Better off starving, you mean?”

“I didn’t know that would happen!”

“Stop!” I cried, exhaustion washing over me. “None of that matters right now.”

“Yes, it does, Feyre!” Nesta argued.

“No,” I said. “What matters is that we find out what on earth we just walked away from. Where are our allies? What is going on? We can’t just let Hybern and Amarantha run amok.”

“I may have some answers for you,” said a familiar voice from the doorway. Tomer walked in, his face a pleased smile. Behind him walked Cassian, Mor, and Azriel, looking battle-weary but triumphant.

“Mor!” I gasped, throwing myself at her as soon as she came near.

She hugged me tightly. “Feyre! Thank the Cauldron you’re all right!”

“You, too,” I said. I looked over her shoulder. “Azriel,” I sighed, noting again the new mark on his brow that I did not recognize or understand.

“A gift from me to him,” Mor explained, following my gaze. “A mark of protection and honor.” She smiled at him, and Azriel amazed me by giving a small smile in return. Just behind him, I saw Cassian move over to Nesta. All he had to do was stand beside her, and all the tension leaked out of her. She visibly shifted to lean into him just slightly, and his hand moved to brace against the small of her back.

“Feyre!” Another blonde figure rushed at me and I smelled peonies.

“Elain!” I said, embracing my sister just as Nesta came over and joined in, making us a tangle of bodies and limbs.

“I was so worried!” she cried. “But Tomer came and told me that he knew where our mother was and brought me here.”

“Lucien?” I asked.

“Careful, Feyre, or they’ll think you were worried,” Lucien quipped from behind Elain. I reached out a hand and pinched him.

There was a wild gasp from behind us and I looked to see our mother standing with both hands clapped over her mouth, eyes wide. I followed her gaze to look beside Tomer, and my stomach almost hit the floor when I saw none other than my father standing there, looking weary but determined. _Determined_.

“Derec,” my mother whispered.

“Daniela,” he said in return, his voice hoarse.

“What are you doing here? How did you get here?” she asked.

“The bed,” my father said hoarsely. “Your map in the ironwood. I never knew it was there, but I should have known . . . one of the last things you told me . . .”

“‘The way is in the wood,’” my mother murmured, her eyes gleaming with tears.

So many questions ran through my mind, but the only thing I was sure of was Rhys. I drifted back to him and let him gather me into his arms again. Our bond hummed in response to our touch, and I leaned my head against his chest, staring at nothing as I tried to reason through what had just happened.

“Where are we?” Nesta finally asked.

“The Heart Tree,” my mother explained. “It’s the largest tree on the island--giant ironwood.”

“You’ve been hiding here?” Elain asked as she took Lucien’s hand in hers.

Daniela nodded. “It was my hiding place growing up, when my brothers and the other islanders were being particularly unkind. When my brothers dragged me back here almost thirteen years ago, Tomer helped me escape and I made it my home.”

“No one knows you’re here?” A small frown touched my lips. It didn’t seem like the most subtle hiding spot.

“Tomer placed some wards around it to keep anyone from suspecting,” my mother replied. “It connects to caves within the canyon wall, so there is plenty of space to hide.”

“What’s going on out there?” I asked Tomer.

“We routed Hybern’s forces on the beach,” Azriel answered for him. “The remnants fled into the jungle, likely to rejoin him, but they were likely picked off by lesser faeries or Drakon’s scouts.”

“As for the king himself,” Tomer said, “Drakon and Miryam’s forces arrived at the same time Lord Rhysand’s did, and the combined forces were able to wring a truce from the enemy forces, at least for now.”

“A truce?” I asked.

“A cease in the fighting,” Tomer explained. “Drakon and Miryam made some sort of arrangement with Hybern to prevent more destruction from befalling the island. I do not yet know the details, but there will be a pause in the fighting for three days.”

“What?” I gasped. It sounded too good to be true. Why would Hybern allow more time to slip away like that? I couldn’t help the feeling of deep dread that slid down my bones.

“I will do what I can to learn more,” Tomer said. “If I had to hazard a guess, the arrival of the Fomorians must have given everyone a good deal of pause.”

“The Fomorians!” My face snapped to Rhys’s and I saw his mouth form a thin line. “How is that possible?”

“Amren,” he said. “She found a way to release them from the Prison. They’re on our side . . . at least for now.”

“But aren’t they . . .?”

“Criminals? Monsters? Maybe,” Rhys said, “but they were also our only hope. If it weren’t for them, I would not have gotten here on time and we would not have intercepted Hybern.” His arms instinctively tightened around me.

“Where _is_ Amren?” I asked quietly.

“Likely with the Fomorians. She speaks their language, knows some of them. Hopefully she can encourage them to maintain whatever truce this is,” Rhys said.

“She . . . Amren is Fomorian?” I gasped.

“It seems so.”

Tomer cleared his throat. “For now, I recommend using this opportunity to rest up. I don’t fancy myself a wise man but I am no fool, either. This truce will not last three days, not with the forces at play. But there is plenty of room here for you all to recuperate and prepare for what is coming. I will be back this evening with news to share.”

Indeed, it was already approaching dawn outside, and I could not deny the weariness that was weighing me down. Tomer gestured to us and escorted Rhysand and I out of the wooden hall--which, I realized as we walked, was circular and carved into the very trunk of the massive tree. The walls shifted from wood to stone as we were led into the network of caves connected to the tree, and little faelight led the way down the twisting paths.

Tomer opened a door for Rhys and I, and it led into a open-faced cave whose far wall was obscured by a slender waterfall pouring down from far above, forming a misting curtain. On either side was a path that led to a stone balcony. I tugged on Rhys’s hand and he followed me out, and my lips parted in wonder at the beautiful scenery on the other side of the waterfall. To our left I could see the trunk of the giant ironwood tree, larger than it seemed it had any right to be. But the balcony also overlooked the canyon below, where half a dozen waterfalls like the one behind us fed into a river that snaked along the canyon floor. The trees were lush and colorful birds darted about their branches. It was peaceful. A sanctuary.

I turned and saw that the waterfall behind us fed into a deep basin carved into the stone balcony, forming a natural bathtub. The excess slipped out of narrow channels on either side, dropping down into the canyon below.

Rhys’s fingers brushed my hair back and traced the fine pointed tip of my ear. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, and I nodded gratefully.

Rhys unbuckled the leather vest around my torso, the only thing like armor I had worn that night. I hadn’t planned to fight, after all, only scout, but the arrival of my allies had spurred me on. My white blouse was filthy and torn and bloodstained from the cut on my shoulder--the cut had healed, though there was still a raised scar there. Rhys pressed his lips to the scar and laid several small kisses along its length. He helped me get the shirt off without lifting my arm, since a bolt of pain ran through my arm if I lifted my left shoulder too much.

He turned me to face him when I was shirtless before him, his eyes taking in my face, my skin, every bit of me that he could. His eyes glowed with regret and yet joy. They flicked to the other scar on my right shoulder where the Bogge had stabbed me. “What did this?” he murmured as he traced his fingers along it.

“The Bogge,” I said softly as he laid a kiss on it. “It . . . it looked like you, Rhys.”

He stiffened and raised his face to look at me. “It did?”

“I thought . . . I thought you’d come to find me. It tricked me.”

“The Bogge only takes the shape of what you fear the most.” He didn’t dare speak his question out loud, but I knew he was asking it anyway.

“It held me, and it told me in your voice that you had made a mistake in mating with me. That you regretted it. And that Amarantha was right about my faithless heart.”

Rhys growled and tugged me to press against him. “You don’t have to be afraid of that, Feyre,” he said, his voice tight. “I would never say something like that to you. I would never even dream of it. These days without you . . . I missed you so badly. Like I had lost a part of myself. And I was worried at every moment that I wouldn’t make it on time to save you, that I would fail you . . .”

I pulled away and brush my right hand over his temple. “You’re here now.”

He took my wrist in his hand and I sucked in a hiss as his thumb pressed against my fresh injury, still bloodstained. My tattoo, now mauled and misshapen . . .

“I’m here,” he said in agreement, “with my High Lady, which is where I should always be.” As he had kissed my other scars, he kissed this wound also. Without another word, he helped me out of my trousers and undressed himself. I whimpered at the sight of his bare skin, his taut muscles . . . his length, which was not ready for me yet but would be soon if I had anything to say about it.

Rhys smirked as he marked my gaze and swept me up into his arms before walking me into the stone tub. The water felt so good against my skin that I sighed in relief. Like our tub in the cabin a world away, this one had a bench built into the side, and Rhys perched me on his lap as he worked the soap into my shoulders and down my back. I tilted my head back as he combed his fingers through my hair, ridding it of the dirt, blood, and sand.

“I love you, Feyre,” he said, kissing my ear. “You are what I treasure beyond anything else in this world. My love, my darling, my mate.” He sealed each word with a kiss, and for the first time in more than a week--though it felt far long than that--everything in my world seemed right.


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS RATED E. NSFW. Not even gonna lie--this is your Chapter 55. They make up from their fight but other than that there’s not much to move the plot forward. So if you don’t like reading smut . . . you can safely skip this one.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE**

Rhys’s hands gently scrubbed all the dirt away from me until I felt I had shed a second skin. In all the places I wasn’t injured, he rubbed away the tension, his fingers digging in until I writhed against his touch. He brushed one spot beneath my second rib where I was ticklish, and my toes curled. I grinned as I instinctively curled away, my knees rising to float in the water. I would have slipped out of balance entirely if it were not for Rhys’s hand guiding my hip back into place.

“Ticklish, darling?” he purred into my ear. He laughed low in his throat. “I love it when you smile like that.” His hand moved to brush that same spot again, but I jerked away.

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, though I did not stop smiling.

In response, his hand curled around the back of my thigh--high, so that his fingers brushed the sensitive skin between my legs. I stilled, and allowed him to draw my leg back down toward his to straddle him again.

“I plan to push many things, love,” he growled into the skin at my neck. He turned his head and tugged at my earlobe with his teeth. “I’ll push wherever I have to in order to make you moan for me.” I gasped as he hand shot up from under the water and latched onto my breast while his other hand slid between my legs and paused--a promise, and a question.

Desire already addled my brain, but even though the haze I realized that there was something that needed done first. I laid my hand over the one he’d place between my legs and laced my fingers with his, slowly drawing it away. I didn’t release his hand until after I’d twisted around in his lap to sit facing him, when I draped both of my arms over his strong shoulders. My breath hitched as I realized he had hardened beneath me--and if I hadn’t developed such strong willpower recently, I would have given up on my plan and just let him take me right then.

“Rhys,” I said quietly, realizing that the waterfall had gone quiet even as it flowed behind us, as though the magic here was reacting to our needs. “I broke my promise to you. I promised I would be there for you, that I wouldn’t leave you, and I did it anyway.”

“You had a good reason,” he said, his eyes soft as velvet.

“Reasons don’t matter,” I said, shaking my head. “I still broke a promise.”

“Reasons always matter,” Rhys said, lifting his hand from where it was cradling my back to stroke my face. “I understand why you had to go.”

“I shouldn’t have said that about Aderyn,” I said, and I felt my lips tremble.

Rhys grimaced. “That hurt me,” he admitted, not pulling any punches, “but you were right. If it were Aderyn, I would have gone. I should have gone the first time.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I said, and it was the truth. “I knew what my words meant a moment too late--a habit of mine.”

Rhys laughed a little and cocked his head. “Well, you can’t be _absolutely_ perfect, I suppose. You need to give the other Ladies and High Ladies a fair shot.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly. “Though if you were to ask me, I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“Really?” I asked. “I think you know better than anyone how cruel I can be.” I had said many terrible things to him before, intentionally and otherwise. I had let him believe that I thought him no more than a distraction, a body to keep me warm at night, for far too long. And I had left him, even when he had begged me not to.

Rhys responded by kissing me again. “I love you,” he said as he drew back, “and if I had expected a perfect mate, I would have been alone for eternity. I much prefer this--prefer you.” He smiled at me, and the expression was so beautiful I felt my heart sputter at the sight of it.

Rhys’s hands tightened around my waist and he drew me off of his lap to sit me on the edge of the basin. He stood on the bottom, so his head was at the same level as my chest. “I have my own apology to make,” he said, taking my hands in his and running his thumbs along their backs. “I made you think that you _had_ to go alone, that I didn’t support your choice. I let my fear blind me, and I did the one thing I’d sworn never to do--I tried to take your choice away from you. By _guilting_ you. And I am ashamed of the man who did that.” He pressed his lips to the back of my tattooed hand.

I leaned over and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the rich scent of him. “I understand why you made your decision,” I said. “And even though I missed you the moment you left me in Summer Court”--he cringed--“I knew you had to defend Velaris. And I don’t fault you for that.”

Rhys’s grip tightened on my hands. “I don’t like this war business. Can we simply get it over with so we can return home and take baths together until our fingers fall off?”

I smirked and tsked. “No, no, you should try to keep your fingers. I rather like what you do with them.”

A wicked grin broke across Rhys’s face and his eyes flashed with mischief. “Do you, now?”

My eyes fell to study his lips and then lifted to his eyes. “I do,” I murmured. Then I unlaced our fingers and placed my hands behind me on the balcony as I drew up my knees to curl my toes over the lip of the basin. Then, my eyes fixed on Rhys, I shifted my hips and spread my legs wide, opening myself up to him if he wanted me.

As though there was any question.

“Feyre,” he breathed, his mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of me. “You’re magnificent. Look at you.”

“Are you going to do anything useful with that mouth of yours?” I asked.

Rhys snarled in delight at the challenge. Then he lunged.

I threw my head back and let out a long groan as Rhysand’s mouth laid over me, sucking the moisture away from my folds as though it was the sweetest wine. He pressed kiss after luxurious kiss there, stroking me with his tongue while his hands gripped my hips. He did not hold me down, though, and when I raised my hips to move against him and urge him on, he did not stop me. He groaned as he tasted my slickness, licking me in long strokes as he nuzzled his nose against me.

I wanted to just fall back against the stone, but I was determined to watch him. Determined to see him kissing me, licking me. So though my arms quaked beneath me as I trembled at his touch, I stayed upright, the sight of his head between my legs and the water dripping down my thighs almost enough to undo me. Eventually I couldn’t keep my hips up and I let him pin me down with one strong, calloused hand while the other traced a long line up my inner thigh. He paused for a moment and drummed his fingers against my skin before I snarled and he laughed. He slid two fingers inside me and I moaned long and loud as he filled me, drawing his fingers in and out as he continued kissing my most tender spot, his tongue flicking out to work me up even more as his fingers pumped within me.

“Rhys,” I moaned, gritting my teeth as he nudged me closer to the end of my tolerance.

“What is it, Feyre darling?” he purred before licking me again. “What do you want me to do?”

“Prick,” I gasped, breathing heavy. “You know.”

He let out a throaty laugh and said, “Of course I do.” He slid his fingers deep inside me and curled them toward himself, striking the hidden spot within me and wringing a strangled cry from my throat. My fingers curled against the stone beneath me and my toes ached where I’d hooked them against the edge of the tub as the pleasure rolled through me and over me. Rhys licked me over and over again as I came around him, savoring the taste of my euphoria. “More, darling, more,” he groaned, and he made the same motion with his fingers a second time, splintering me again as I swore and cast my eyes to the stars.

I couldn’t support myself anymore. I lowered myself onto the flat stones and covered my face with my hands as I gasped for breath and Rhys finished with me. I made no movement as he drew my legs back into the water--I was too focused on the glorious drumbeat between my legs. I heard the surface of the water break as he rose up and looked over me. Water droplets scattered over my stomach.

“Don’t cover your face, love,” he said softly. “I want to see you.” He leaned over and drew my hands away until I was looking into his eyes as deep and pure as the night. He lowered his head and placed a long, sweet kiss on my lips. I could taste myself on him, and the thrill of it prompted me to bite his lower lip and drag it between my teeth.

Rhys climbed the rest of the way out of the bath and straddled me, his legs on either side of mine. My mouth went dry when I saw he was still long and hard and ready for me. He grinned when he saw where my gaze was directed. “Do you want me, Feyre?”

I bit my lip and nodded. “Forever,” I ground out. I reached toward his face. “I want you forever, Rhys.”

He scooped one hand beneath my shoulders and one beneath my hips to slide me further onto the balcony, making room for himself on the even surface. He nudged my legs apart with his knees, splashing more water over me as it streamed off his beautiful golden skin. He bent over and licked the water from my navel before kissing a line up my torso and between my breasts. He hovered over me for a moment, drinking in my flushed and dripping face, and he breathed, “You are my mate, Feyre Archeron. I love you more than anything else on this earth . . . and I swear to you now that I will never let you forget that or think otherwise again, no matter how many centuries we live.” He dipped his head down to kiss me, and I arched into it, lifting my hips until they brushed against his hardened length. “I love you.”

He growled into the kiss, and with one hand poised between my hips and my ribs, he slid himself into me. I let out a rapturous cry into his mouth and he swallowed it up, sweeping his tongue into my mouth even as I lost myself in the feeling of him inside me. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be so full of him, to be so joined with him. I lifted my legs and wrapped him around his back, pulling him deeper inside me as I did. He snarled in pleasure and his exquisite wings emerged from the shadows behind him, covering us and sheltering us from the threats of the world.

There was no war. There was no Hybern or Amarantha. There was no Stone of Danann or Cauldron or Spear or Book or Sword. There was no pain.

There was just us.

Rhys pulled out of me and thrust back in, drawing another groan from me. His mouth tore from mine and dragged along my jaw, down to my neck and throat, where he kiss me hard and dragged his tongue and teeth over my skin, even as he thrust into me again. My hands grappled against his shoulders, clutching the strong muscles of his wings until he moaned my name against my throat.

More. I needed more.

I dug my heels into his lower back, into his ass, urging him on harder, faster, deeper. I didn’t care about the hard stone beneath my back, didn’t care about anything but _him_.

Rhys obliged me and moved faster into me, bucking his hips against mine until we were both gasping for breath and my breasts rippled over my chest. His hands moved to cup them, elbows braced against the stone, and he licked the curves of them, sucked my nipples into his mouth as he pumped into me, his desire and power unrelenting.

“Rhys, Rhys,” I moaned, tears of pleasure leaking from my eyes. “I love you . . . I love you so much.” Adequate words escaped me as my mind was filled with him, our movements the sum of everything we’d been through together and all the challenges we’d faced.

One hand still gripped the edge of his wing, but I removed the other to slide between my legs. I needed--needed release, needed to satisfy the building pressure in every inch of my body. I rubbed myself and Rhys laid one hand over mine, moving with me as I coaxed myself closer and closer to the edge, still rocking with him, clinging to him . . .

At last my body succumbed and I screamed as the wave broke over me, relief shuddering through my body like a tremor in the earth. The hand that still clung to Rhys’s wing tightened on instinct, digging my nails into the flesh there. He swore, and a moment later he came too, spilling the essence of him inside of me as we ground into each other, both unwilling to part in the midst of our heavenly delirium. My breathing was heavy, erratic, as the hand on his wing moved to tangle in his hair and drag his mouth to mine. The kiss was sloppy, exhausted, just lips and tongues and teeth dancing together until the chaos finished coursing its way through us. Rhys lowered himself on top of me, kissing my chin and my jaw and my ear as his hands combed through my soaking hair. He scooped one arm around my back and before I could say a thing he winnowed us inside and onto the bed that had been prepared for us.

He hadn’t even pulled out of me yet.

He tucked me close into his chest and nestled my head under his chin. “You’re not glowing,” he murmured. “Did I underperform?” I could hear the teasing in his voice, but there was a hint of a real question there as well. My foolish High Lord.

I laughed into his tattooed skin. “Not in the slightest. I think you’ve simply forgotten that my parents and sisters are all somewhere quite nearby as well. I have to have _some_ self-control.”

“Who says?” Rhysand growled into my hair. “Besides, I am quite sure we’re not the only ones enjoying each others’ company tonight.”

I ran my fingers up his side and he trembled. “When this is all said and done there is a cabin in the mountains that I think has gotten a little cold in our absence.”

Rhys hummed. “Yes, we’ll certainly have to remedy that.” At last he adjusted himself and me so that we were separated, but only technically. He still cradled me in his arms so securely it seemed as though nothing in the world could snatch me away from him, or him from me. “We should sleep,” he said. “There’s much that awaits us when the sun comes up.”

I grumbled but I did close my eyes. “Why can’t they all just leave us be?”

Rhys laughed. “A question I ask myself on the daily.” He kissed my temple. “Good night, Feyre darling.”

“Good night, Rhys.”

Sleep claimed me sooner than I expected, and for the first time in days I slept soundly, wrapped in the peace and comfort of my High Lord’s arms.


	62. Chapter 62

**CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO  
**

I woke to Rhysand’s kisses on my eyelids, and I nestled myself closer to him and smiled without opening my eyes. My fingers curled over the back of his shoulder and I tilted my chin up so that his kisses touched my lips instead. **  
**

“Good morning, darling,” he murmured, running his fingers through my hair.

“Morning,” I grumbled back, finally opening my eyes to see him gazing at me with pure adoration on his face. I kissed him and we smiled onto one another’s lips. It was so easy to pretend that there was only this, only his touch and his kiss. I shut out thoughts of the rest and simply memorized the sensation of his fingers on my arm, cradling the side of my head.

“We really should get out of bed,” he said.

“I disagree,” I said stubbornly. “I’m staying right here.”

Rhys chuckled and started to shift upright, but I was too fast for him. I spread my tattooed hand on his chest and squirmed out of his arms until I was straddled over his torso. We were both still quite naked from the night before. I traced my fingers over the swirls of ink on his chest with one hand. With the other, I reached behind me and stroked his sleeping member. He groaned and tipped his head back, his jaw tight but a smile twisting his lips. “Feyre . . .” he breathed.

I laughed and bit my lip. When I had him good and ready, I pressed both my hands on his chest and fit myself over him, letting out a tiny moan of my own as he filled me. Then I made love to my mate, slow and gentle and full of promise. His hand held my hips as I writhed over him. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and I bent over to kiss them away before laying a deep kiss on his lips, which he returned just as sweetly. I gasped and shuddered when we finally came with each other, and Rhys’s arms wrapped around me and lifted me off of him so he could lay me at his side. We lost ourselves in each other’s eyes for a long moment as he brushed my cheek with the back of his knuckles.

At long last, and with a great deal of effort, Rhys dragged himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his broad and muscled back facing me. I rose onto my knees and began to knead out the tension I saw there.

“We should probably take another bath now,” Rhys said wryly, kissing the back of my hand as it roved over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to give your poor father a start.”

I kissed the back of his neck. “I have never once cared what my father thinks about who I sleep with, and I’m not about to start now. Besides, he’s mortal. He won’t smell it.”

“Everyone else will,” Rhys pointed out.

“And I don’t care about that either.” I reached around and tilted his chin so he could see me over his shoulder. “You are my mate, Rhysand. And you are mine. I want everyone to smell it, to know that you’re mine and that nothing is going to tear us apart.”

Rhys twisted around to gently take my arm and pull me onto his lap. “I want everyone to know that, too.” He pressed his lips to the palm of my hand. He let out a long, burdened sigh. “I thought I was going to die when I saw her hands on you.”

I grimaced. “He brought her back. Hybern did. She . . . she won’t stop until she destroys us this time.”

“We’ll just have to destroy her first,” Rhys said, his words honed like the edge of a knife. He laced his fingers in mine and stared intently at my ink-swirled hand. “I haven’t shifted into that form in over a century. Maybe longer. But when I saw her about to hurt you _again_ . . .” He shuddered. “I didn’t even have to think about it. I’m . . . I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

I let out a surprised noise. “Rhys! Don’t apologize for that. I . . . you didn’t scare me. Not even for a moment.”

His eyes rose to mine. “I felt that. I wasn’t sure at first if it was just our bond not reacting because of--” He shook his head. “You really weren’t afraid.”

I brushed the side of his face with his other hand. “Not even a little. I felt safe, Rhys. Because I knew it was you. There wasn’t a shred of doubt.”

He let out a short huff of relief and pressed his forehead into my shoulder. “You’re a gift, Feyre.”

We sat there, holding each other, plenty of emotions flowing between us over the bond, which was glowing and warm and full again. I realized as I sat there on his lap how dim my world had been without him, without his star-flecked eyes. Here I was, on a tropical island with sights and beauty that I had ever before witnessed, and I had never once thought of painting it. It had not moved me, because without Rhys my own heart had gone quiet. He was the reason my world had any beauty at all, because he had loved me and nurtured me and restored me. Without him . . . I had carried on. I had survived. But it hadn’t been full or complete without him.

“One thought for another,” he said as he kissed the corner of my mouth.

My grip around the back of his neck tightened. “I don’t know what I would do if you died. I think . . . I think I would rather die with you than try to survive in this world without you.” Tears pricked in my eyes, though I tried to keep my emotions on a tight leash.

“Feyre,” Rhys breathed, devastation filling his violet eyes. He lifted his hand to brush his thumb along my cheek. “Please. Please, darling. I will do everything I can to stay with you. To survive this with you. But you know that I would give my life if it meant protecting you, if it meant that you could go on in this world and protect our court and defeat our enemies. If . . . if the worst happens and I have to leave you, promise me that you’ll survive. That you’ll live and go home and do all the things we’ve talked about doing together. Bring peace and equality to our court. Make it what I never could. Because you _can_ , Feyre. You’re so strong, so beautiful. I know that it would be hard, but if anyone could do it, you could. Promise me you’ll carry on, even if I can’t be at your side?”

I gasped and buried myself in his chest, trying to keep him from seeing the tears that had spilled from my eyes. I was shaking with fear and love and so many other emotions, and Rhys’s arms banded around me to hold me tight. “Only if you promise the same thing,” I said hoarsely. “If I die . . . go home to our Court of Dreams. Heal . . . and let yourself be happy without me. This is my official permission. You’re allowed to live and be happy without me. The last thing I want if I die is for you to live the rest of your life sad and miserable. I don’t want that for you. I’ll do everything possible to make it through this by your side, but if I don’t . . . promise me you’ll still fill the night with stars.”

I broke then, letting the tears flow as the prospect of either of us being without the other hit me with full force. Rhys trembled beneath me and I felt one of his tears drop onto my cheek. I lifted my head and was nearly knocked back by the force of the emotions in his eyes. “I promise,” he rasped, and then he kissed me.

It wasn’t sweet, or slow, or measured. This kiss was unleashed--he devoured my mouth with his, moving his lips against mine so hard I arched back and he had to press his palm to my shoulders to keep me in place. His tongue swept in and I languished in the taste of him, the feel of him in my mouth. I kissed him back just as fiercely, clutching the sides of his face to keep him from getting away from me. His bit down on my bottom lip and my tongue traced over his teeth before taking my turn exploring his mouth.

I think we might have sat there kissing each other forever. Maybe we would have even made love again--neither of us would have objected. But a knock came on the door, interrupting us. I swallowed and pulled away from him. “One moment,” he called, not taking his eyes off me. He lifted me from his lap and set me on my feet, though he didn’t let go of my waist as he stood himself. He lifted a robe from a hook by the bed and offered it to me while he pulled on a pair of linen trousers himself. I hastily tried to finger comb my bed-mussed hair and Rhys laughed, kissing the top of my head. “You look beautiful.” I smirked and watched him as he crossed the room to answer the door.

Tomer stood on the other side, wearing a calm smile. His nostrils flared as our scent wafted to him and I saw regret tinge his eyes. “Good morning, Lord and Lady,” he said. “I just wanted to inform you that the others have awoken and are heading for breakfast. I am expecting word from the palace shortly and will share it with you after we have eaten.” He glanced over us again. “I could ask food be sent here, if you prefer.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Rhys said before I could answer. “We’ll be out soon.”

Tomer nodded and proceeded down the hallway.

“I like him,” I said. “I can’t put my finger on why.” It wasn’t knowing that he’d helped my mother or any of the other things that the royal adviser had done. There was something about his bearing, the gentleness of him . . . I rarely saw that among the High Fae in Prythian.

“I agree,” Rhys said as he moved to the armoire to pick out clothing for us. The wardrobe was full of colorful tunics and gowns, none of which seemed very practical.

“I still have the armor you gave me,” I mentioned.

Rhys scoffed. “Is your family so terrifying that you need to go to breakfast fully armed?” he teased.

“No,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I just want to be prepared.”

“Oh, we’ll prepare you,” Rhys said with a wink. He perused the offerings in the armoire before a dazzling, mischievous grin spread across his face. “This one.” He drew out a dress made mostly of light, billowing black fabric, but with a bodice and front panel made with gold that shimmered in the morning light. “Wear this for me, Feyre.”

I went a little breathless at the sight of it. “You don’t think it’s a little . . . much?”

Rhys gave me a look. “ _You_ wanted to wear your armor.”

I sighed. “Touché.” I slipped my robe off and Rhys bent onto one knee, opening the dress up for me to step into. As he pulled the dress up over my body, he placed a line of kisses up the plane of my stomach. I smirked and rolled my eyes, but I slipped arms into the straps and let him kiss me all the way up my throat and onto my lips.

I looked in the mirror beside the armoire and let out a little huff of disbelief. “You _would_ choose something like this,” I said, marking how the neckline plunged down just beneath my sternum to show off my breasts.

“Do you blame me?” Rhys asked, looking wholly unapologetic. “They’re so delicious that I want to be able to look at them whenever I please.” As he spoke he traced his fingers over the curve of my breast. I realized then that the mark that had lingered between my collarbones for over a month now--the sign of my bargain with Hybern--had vanished. Whatever understanding we’d had seemed to have fallen apart, and the mark had disappeared as a result. I was relieved.

I laughed at Rhys’s playfulness and pulled out a tunic for him to wear. He smirked as I indicated with my eyes that he should remove his trousers. I made to bend down to help him in but he snatched the black tunic away from me. “I don’t think so,” he said in a sultry voice. “You think I don’t know what you have planned with that wicked mouth of yours?”

“Oh, so you can lick me but I don’t get the pleasure?” I asked with a pout.

“Exactly.” He pecked me on the lips. I turned and grabbed a comb to work the knots from my hair that had formed from going to bed with my hair wet, and once it was sleek and shining I twisted half of it up behind my head with decorative gold combs. I put some very light cosmetics on--without Mor here I wasn’t confident enough to do much besides add a touch of kohl to my eyelids and paint my lips dark red.

Behind me, Rhys lifted some of my loose hair up to his nose and breathed it in. “You’re glorious, Feyre,” he murmured.

I thought then how thankful I was to have a mate who meant every word he said. Not one of his compliments ever felt forced or insincere, and I could believe every one of them. I had stopped thinking much about Tamlin at all in the past several weeks, but I remembered how much he had struggled to compliment me. I had thought it endearing shyness at first, but I could see now that what Tamlin and I had shared . . . it hadn’t really been love. I couldn’t name what it was, but we’d been forced together by Amarantha and her cruelty. He’d loved me because he had no choice. And I should have seen sooner that it would never have lasted.

Rhys had a choice. And he chose me. He chose to love me even in the face of all our trials, had loved me even before it was safe and before I even understood what love was. And I knew in my bones that I would never have come so far if it had been Tamlin at my side. There was no one stronger, no one who could have brought out this strength in me, than the man at my side now.

I stopped being afraid. Whatever we had to face, we would do it together, and we would both survive and endure. And together we would bring the light back to Prythian.

-

We walked down the stone corridor hand-in-hand until it opened up to the large hall carved into the trunk of the ironwood tree. A long table had been erected in the middle, and the fire still crackled in the heart at the back of the room. The table was piled high with food, and my stomach growled at the sight of it.

Rhys and I had both relaxed our glamours and allowed the tendrils of night to swirl around us. It was a comfort to see them, a reminder of who we were and what we were fighting for. We stepped into the room and someone already at the table shot up at the sight of us.

My father.

“Feyre,” he gasped, his eyes wide and face pale. His face was clean-shaven unlike it had been the night before, and he was dressed in a long robe like some of the other men on the Fortunate Isle wore. He leaned on his cane--a better one than he’d possessed in our cottage--and hobbled around the table to approach us. “Feyre, my child! I thought you had died! I thought you all had!”

My brow knitted as I looked over my father, mortal, struck by the difference between us now. “I did die,” I replied, and he flinched. Rhys’s hand tightened around mine. “I was murdered by the same evil woman out there on this island right now . . . only for once, someone bothered to save me.” I looked at Rhys to soften the blow of my words and so that I did not have to see my father’s face as they hit him. But I saw the shadows form in Rhys’s eyes as he looked over my father, who had failed me so consistently for over five years.

“You’re High Fae,” my father murmured.

“And the High Lady of the Night Court of Prythian,” Rhys added. He did not sound like the Rhys I had made love to less than an hour before--rather, he sounded like the High Lord he was, and the power dripped off of every word.

I swallowed over the dryness in my throat. “Father, this is my mate, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court of Prythian. The most powerful High Lord in history.” I knew I did not need to say that last part, but it was good to speak it out loud. “Rhysand, this is my father, Derec Archeron, Esquire.”

“Do you have a surname?” my father asked, his eyebrows lifting a fraction as his eyes followed the swirling tattoos on Rhysand’s bare chest. It was sad watching him try to seem important in front of my mate.

A soft snarl that I thought only I could hear rippled in the back of Rhys’s throat. “I don’t need a surname,” he said softly, viciously.

In a move I’d learned from Rhys, I lifted my left hand to brush invisible dust from my shoulder, displaying the massive star sapphire ring on my finger. Rhys noticed it too for the first time, and pleasure shot down our bond. My lips lifted in a small, casual smile.

 _You still have it_ , he said in my mind.

 _Of course_ , I replied. _I put far too much work into getting it to lose it._

Rhys stroked our bond with a mental finger and my smile grew. Those little pocket realms Rhys had taught me about had come quite handy for keeping the ring safe while I’d been in dangerous situations. I was happy to be wearing it again.

My father’s eyes went wide at the ring and I could hear the turmoil in his mind. Fear, of course, at my mate and what I had become; awe at the size of the gem on my finger; and ridiculous indignance that Rhys hadn’t asked him for my hand.

“Your hus--mate rather seems like he wants to eat me, Feyre,” my father said with a nervous laugh.

Rhys’s upper lip pulled up on one side in a half-snarl. “I don’t _eat_ humans,” Rhys said, disgust curling around his words, “but I struggle to respect a human who would let his daughter go hunting so close to the wall before she’s even reached womanhood.” Rhys let out a long breath, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. “I have seen my mate starving before, and I never wish to again. In my care, she will never know hunger the likes of which you allowed her to suffer. _Never_.”

Rhys guided me by the elbow to sit at the table, far from the seat my father had been occupying. I dared glanced over my shoulder to see my father standing where we’d left him with his shoulders slumped.

I didn’t realize until I looked up that Elain and Lucien were sitting directly across from us, Lucien in a tunic of gold and Elain in a soft pink flowing gown decorated with flowers, a crown of them upon her head. Her mark had vanished, too. I feared that I would see reproach in Elain’s eyes regarding our father, but I found only soft understanding. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand in hers. Lucien met Rhys’s eyes and gave him a sharp, thankful nod.

Loud laughter echoed from the corridor and soon Azriel and Mor emerged with Cassian and Nesta. Cassian and Mor both smiled broadly, while the other two just lifted their lips, smiling mostly with their eyes instead. Cassian clapped Azriel on the shoulder and the spymaster drifted behind Mor to the table. Cassian made to follow them, but stopped, instantly on edge, when he saw Nesta’s icy eyes locked on our father.

Nesta looked resplendent in a flowing gown of shimmering bronze, sleeveless and held up by two narrow cords crossed over her unmarked chest. Three small diamond cutouts down the front of her dress bore tiny pieces of skin. Her hair was swept up in a braided crown upon her head, revealing the elegant point of her ears. But it was her eyes that were the most stunning, landing on our father with undisguised disdain.

Cassian, who wore a brown tunic and bronze belt at his waist, flared his wings and stepped beside Nesta protectively. But Nesta let her eyes do all the talking, and she moved past our father without saying a word to him. Cassian’s hand slid down to her back, guiding her to join us at the table. I caught their scent and realized that it was quite mingled, more than it had been the last time I’d seen them together.

Cassian jerked his chin at Rhys and me. “You two smell like you had fun last night.”

Rhys growled, “So do you.”

Cassian’s mouth snapped shut, but Nesta beside him looked as pleased as the cat that swallowed the canary.

“By the Mother, I’m starving,” Mor sighed, and she instantly dug in, filling her plate with everything she could reach. Her enthusiasm broke the tension over the room, and none of us bothered to notice when my father slunk his way back to the table. I hadn’t asked about where my mother was, but I decided that one disappointing parental figure at a time was enough. So I distracted myself by letting Rhys feed me bits of melon and kissing away bits of avocado from the corner of his mouth. After we had all eaten and drifted into a contented silence, there was a knock on the hall door, which swung open in response.

There on the other side of the threshold was Tomer.

And my mother.


	63. Chapter 63

**CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE**

My mother and Tomer walked into the room and paused at the very obvious distance my sisters and I had placed between ourselves and our father. I saw her intelligent eyes--eyes that Nesta and I shared--glance at the fae at our sides.

“I must say,” she said, her voice as cool and calm as I remembered it. “This is not how I expected a family reunion to go.”

I saw Nesta’s mouth go tight, but she said nothing. “We never _expected_ a family reunion,” I said. “We thought you were dead, remember?”

“I see we’re not getting anywhere without a few explanations,” my mother said, crossing the room, her head held high. Not a bit of remorse on her.

“It’s only fair, Mother,” said Elain softly. Only at Elain’s voice did my mother’s countenance ease slightly.

“What do you want to know first?” my mother said.

“Did you always know you were Jurian’s daughter?” I asked.

She nodded. “My fair features compared to Drakon’s made it very obvious. My conception occurred at the very end of the War, when my mother went to confront Jurian about his behavior with Clythia. She does not speak of it much, but he forced himself on her, raging the whole time about how she betrayed him with faerie scum. Drakon would have killed him, but Amarantha got to him first. The War ended soon after, and Morrigan helped hide Miryam and Drakon here. I was born only a few months later. Drakon never blamed me for who my father was and cared for me like one of his own. I was happy here for a long time, but when Miryam and Drakon had children of their own . . . my siblings did not feel as generous toward me.

“Drakon’s three eldest sons, in particular--Abiron, Nikias, and Damon--held nothing but disdain for me and drummed up antagonism toward me among their friends and families. As the centuries wore on, I began to isolate myself more and hide here to avoid their scorn and torment. Tomer was always kind to me and helped me, but he’s so good at politics that the sons of Drakon never suspected.

“For a long time I didn’t believe that I had the Mother’s Blessing. Perhaps this was only for full-blooded children of Drakon and Miryam. For those who were more fae than I. But then I felt the first tug of my mate bond, and I was amazed to realize that it was leading me away from the Fortunate Isle.” My mother looked at my father then, and his weathered face colored at the memory.

“I asked to leave,” she continued, “but due to the laws preventing anyone from leaving the island, it was forbidden. There was too great a risk that the fae gifts would appear--since everyone was sure they would come from Miryam’s people. If the fae gifts were born among us, it was safer, because then no threat would be able to enter from the outside. But the mate bond is strong, and its pull almost drove me wild. So my mother let me go, much to the displeasure of everyone else. I took a sample of this tree with me, and from it I used the tiny bit of magic I possess to plant one in Prythian. When I found Derec, I asked him to make something for me out of the tree . . . because the wood was enchanted to always lead the way home in case I ever needed it.

“I enjoyed being among the humans. They did not treat me with scorn or disdain as my family had. I was respected, and I had a husband who loved me, even if he could not return the mate bond. Then Nesta was born . . . and she had the fae laugh.”

Nesta went stiff but did not look at our mother. She stared straight ahead, her mouth a hard line. Cassian laid his enormous hand over hers. “We know this part of the story,” she finally said, her voice low and deadly. “Skip to the part where you left us.”

“I didn’t leave you!” our mother snapped, her eyes flashing. “I got sick, and spending so long away from magic had diminished my own limited healing abilities. Derec sent word to my family, whom he did not know were fae but whom he knew could heal me. Unfortunately, my brothers got the message first, and they came to collect me when I was too weak to resist them.

“They allowed me to heal, but I knew it would be impossible to leave the island for a second time. I escaped my family, knowing they would punish me for daring to have children with a human from Prythian, and I’ve been hiding here ever since.”

“Meanwhile,” Nesta said icily, “our fortunes failed and your mate almost let us starve for five years. If it weren’t for Feyre--” Nesta choked, and her eyes met mine, filled with apologies and thankfulness all at once. “He would have let us starve to death if Feyre hadn’t hunted for us.”

“I couldn’t!” our father finally sputtered, straightening in his chair. “They _ruined_ my leg. I could barely leave the house!”

I finally deigned to say something. “You could have. You could have fished--that requires little use of your leg. You could have learned a more useful trade, like weaving or cobbling or something. You could have done something other than sit there and let me risk my life day in and day out.” I met eyes with my sisters then, and shame colored their features, for they both knew that they were just as guilty as he was. But they understood, and they had apologized, and they had aided me in a dozen other ways by now. My father did not even seem inclined to say sorry.

My mother looked between us, her face conflicted. And with only the slightest touch of my daemati magic I was able to read her two reactions as they warred with each other. She was relieved to see us again, and amazed that her daughters were all Fae; she was happy to see her mate again, but at the same time, she could not reconcile our accounts of how badly he’d failed us.

“You let us down, Father,” I said. “Because you wouldn’t fight for us, I was in the forest that day and came upon that faerie that I murdered. Because you wouldn’t defend me against the High Lord of Spring, I was taken away, certain I would die. It turned out I was right.” My mother’s eyes went wide as her head snapped between my father and me. “I was brought back, and now the very same woman who killed me and harmed those I love is prowling around out there, looking to cement her hold on this world. I’ll be damned if I let that happen.” Rhys’s arm had snaked around my back, and I could tell he was barely breathing as his eyes like night stared my father down. “Though in the end I suppose it was a good thing you failed us so badly,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “I would not be who I am today, would not have found the power and love I have, if starvation had not forced me into the forest that day. So for that, at least, it seems I can thank you.”

My father looked down at his plate, eyes glassy, but he said nothing. Nothing to defend himself, to argue . . . nothing to prove that he was a stronger man than I believed him to be. Rhys’s hand rose to brush his knuckles against my neck and I leaned into his touch. I met Mor’s eyes across the table and she gave me a smile that reminded me that she understood--that her parents had let her down, too, and hurt her . . . but that she was all right, and she didn’t have to forgive them to be all right.

“If I may,” Tomer said gently, stepping toward the table, “I wanted to share with you some updates while we have you all here.”

I turned to him and nodded, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“The fighting last night was stopped when our armies and the Fomorians surrounded Hybern’s forces near the Stone of Danann,” Tomer said. “Of course, Hybern had not isolated his forces there, and he had another army preparing to march on our capital from the east. He also still possesses the Cauldron and the Spear, which provides him with a great deal of strength. In order to prevent more destruction on the island, Miryam and Drakon met with Hybern and arranged the truce we are currently enjoying. They’ve agreed not to attack each other for the next three days, but as I said last night, I am under no illusion that it will last that long, and I am certain that Drakon and Miryam know this, too. Your other allies have been given shelter in the city for the time being.”

“Other allies?” I asked, looking at Azriel and Mor.

“Tarquin,” Azriel replied, his voice low. “The other humans, and the Illyrians. Prince Masaru is there as well. I’m not sure about the Fomorians.”

Tomer shook his head. “The Fomorians were not welcome inside the city. They’re too much of a threat. They are camping out in the forest. But I would not be the only way to say that I hope they go away sooner rather than later. They were locked in the Prison for a reason.”

“I am aware of that,” Rhysand said, his voice sharp. “I did not make the decision lightly.”

“Miryam and Drakon are requesting that you join them at the palace,” Tomer continued. “Drakon says he was wrong not to listen to you or welcome you to fight with him, and he would like to arrange an alliance.”

“Does he, now?” I asked coolly. Tomer frowned but only nodded in response. “I don’t see that we have much choice,” I said. “Despite our individual strengths, Hybern has raised a formidable army and we will never be able to face him alone.”

“Agreed,” Azriel said with a nod.

When we had finished eating, we gathered our limited belongings and winnowed to the palace in the forested basin. Our introduction this time was not nearly as hurried or discrete.

I leaned over to Elain before we were ushered in. “Show them you’re a High Lady now,” I murmured. “Let them know what you are, and that they cannot touch you.”

Elain’s mouth set into a firm line and she nodded. I watched as she released her glamour and let the gold light that Tamlin had once possessed radiate off of her. The vines that had twined around her fingers since she had made expanded and swirled all the way up her arms, tiny pink flowers blooming there to match her gown. Beside her, Lucien glowed himself, heat radiating off of him and causing the air to ripple around him. He was not quite on fire, but I could tell that he could be with only half a thought. Rhys and I were cloaked in our shadows, and Cassian had exchanged his tunic for his armor, though his Siphons still seemed to compliment Nesta’s gown. Mor looked resplendent as always in a gown of emerald green, and Azriel stood beside her for a change, rather than half a step behind.

Our Illyrian friends led the way ahead of us as we walked down that familiar pillared hall. Sunlight streamed in from high, paneless windows, and curtains rustled in a light breeze that cut the thickness of the humid air. Elain and Lucien, the newly-crowned High Lady and High Lord, followed behind. At last, Rhys and I entered, letting out power leak out of us in the way we only ever did at the Court of Nightmares. We were not here to be trifled with. We were here to fight a war, and I would not allow Drakon or his men to underestimate me again.

This time, the hall was lined with people, and the table at the far end had a person in every seat. Miryam and Drakon were seated side-by-side in the center, with an arrangement of dignified faeries, humans, and blends of the two on either side. All were dressed in flowing tunics like the one Miryam had worn when we first met her. All wore bands of gold around their heads, none more dignified than the other, as though every person was equal to every other. I realized that this must be the Council.

My family and I lined up before the table, and I locked eyes with every single member of the Council, saving Drakon for last. I held his dark gaze with mine own, and his expression was as unmoving as stone.

“Welcome, High Lords and High Ladies of Prythian,” Miryam said. “My granddaughters,” she added warmly. I did not return her warmth, nor did Nesta. Only Elain seemed remotely gracious.

“Do you plan to treat us as family now?” I asked, my expression and voice cloaked in the mask of the High Lady. “Now that the situation is dire, do you care what we have to say?”

Miryam’s eyebrows lifted, but her eyes remained too difficult to read.

“Surely you cannot fault us for taking precautions,” said a fae member of the Council.

“Those precautions almost cost you your home,” I said. “If our own allies had not arrived on time, you would have been grossly outnumbered.” My eyes found Tarquin, who had emerged from the crowd to stand among us, his white hair gleaming in the streaks of light.

“That is precisely why we asked you here,” Drakon said, his bass voice filling the hall with ease. “We had no idea the threat that Hybern posed, but now that we are aware both of his capabilities and his goals, we have the information we need to prevent his success.” Drakon looked at all of us critically, his eyes resting on me longest of all. “For the benefit of all present, Feyre, please explain what exactly happen at the site of the Stone of Danann.”

I bristled. “That’s _Lady_ Feyre,” I said. “If you do not wish to treat me as family, then you have no right to address me informally.” Beside me, Rhys smirked, and I felt his pride ripple down the bond between us. “I am sure you are aware that I was not born High Fae, but I was made that way after Amarantha killed me . . . thanks to the gift of the seven High Lords of Prythian. Thus, my blood satisfies the requirement of the Sevens’ Blood, granting access to the Stone. I also possess the fae oath, which Hybern believes can seal his fate as High King should the Stone crown him.”

“He believes?” Miryam asked, noting the qualifier.

“For one thing, I would never speak such an oath,” I said simply. “For another, I watched with my own eyes as Hybern drank my blood and stood on the Stone, only to have it reject and expel him. If he is relying on the Stone, he cannot be High King.”

“Then why is he still here?” a human member of the Council demanded.

“He will try again,” I answered. “I’m sure of it. He is trying to rid himself of the Mortal Curse and claim kingship all at once. He is running out of time before the disease wracking his body claims him.”

“Then what do we have to fear?” the human councilman asked. “If we strengthen our wards and bide our time, he will die and we shall have nothing to fear.”

“I wish that were true,” Rhys said, his voice sultry and rich as silk. “Unfortunately he has managed to raise Amarantha and a host of their old allies from the War. When Hybern dies, I guarantee that Amarantha will rise in his place and finish what she started.”

“Rhysand,” Drakon said, his eyes falling on my mate. My hackles rose instantly as the territorial part of our bond flared within me. There was nothing of whatever friendship they had once shared in Drakon’s eyes. He looked at Rhys as though he was a stranger. “Am I to understand that you released the Fomorians? A force far greater and more deadly than Hybern himself? And you _brought them to my island_?”

Rhys brushed a fleck of dust from his arm. “Our ancestors,” he said, “are the only beings capable of crushing Hybern’s ancient magic. Without their intervention the other night, Hybern’s army would have likely stormed your city.”

“How do we have any assurance that the Fomorians won’t storm our city?” Drakon demanded, his golden wings rising in agitation behind him.

“My Second in Command is Fomorian,” Rhys said, his words sharp. “She is our liaison and I trust her with my life. The Fomorians accept her as one of them, and they are the only beings who hate Hybern more than we do. I understand that I took a risk in releasing them, but it was a calculated risk.”

Drakon shook his head in disbelief. “Let us hope your calculated risk has not resulted in a grave for us all.” He let out a long breath. “The Council understands that you are all here in good faith,” he continued. “As such, we would like to meet with you in private to better understand your forces and the tools at your disposal. We should take advantage of this truce to develop a sound strategy. The sooner we can get Hyberns and the Fomorians off this island, the better.” He didn’t have to say, _and you all, too_.

I wanted to ask the nature of the truce, but I did not want to do it in front of the gathered crowd. The Council stood, and those in the hall bowed their heads in deference. The Council filed out of the hall, and at Tomer’s indication, we followed behind into another chamber within the palace, ready to begin negotiations and bring an end to Hybern’s wrath.


	64. Chapter 64

**CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR**

We all were led to a round table in Drakon’s war room. Not all of the council members had followed along with us, and Tomer explained that they were concerned with getting the weaker members of their society into safe hiding places in preparation for the war. All those involved with military strategy, he said, were present now.

Among us were several humans that did not look like islanders--they had the look and attire of citizens of the the continent, and they regarded all fae and half-fae individuals with distrust.

Before we took our seats, I sought out Tarquin. “It is good to see you,” I said, squeezing his hand in mine.

“And you,” he said with a smile. “We were all quite alarmed to find out you’d been taken. I am glad to see you’re in one piece.”

“Did you ever find your sister?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even and dull the edge.

Tarquin’s blue eyes hardened. “We did. She is secured in Udara, one of my other cities. I promise she will be held accountable for her crimes.”

“I trust you,” I said. “What of Aracely? Did she go home?”

The hard glint in Tarquin’s eyes turned into a sparkle. “She insisted on coming along. I asked her to stay on the ship until the battle ended, but . . .”

“He couldn’t keep me away for long.” The light chirp of Aracely’s voice was a welcome sound. She stepped up beside Tarquin, and I was stunned by how lovely she looked in this environment. Her hair, which had been braided the last time I’d seen it, was now a curly brown halo above her head, and the sunlight gleamed through the edges as though crowning her. Her large jewelry and wrap dress looked almost native to the Fortunate Isle, and her amber-brown eyes glowed with the excitement of a new environment. “It’s lovely here,” she remarked. “It reminds me of home, but at the same time, it’s so different . . .”

“It is beautiful,” I agreed. I wished I had the luxury of viewing it with wonder.

The meeting was called to order a moment later, and Rhys and I sank into chairs beside each other. Rhys laid his hand over mine on the table, stroking the back of my head with his thumb. He locked eyes with every single male in the room, claiming me and threatening them all at once. A quick glance to my side told me that Cassian was doing the same with Nesta. I was amazed that he had managed to remain so calm this morning, if my suspicions about the night before were right, but Cassian kept to his usual glaring, his hand spread over Nesta’s thigh. My sister had a look on her face that matched his and promised death to anyone who wished them harm.

The meeting reminded me of our negotiations with Tarquin back in the Summer Court weeks ago, and despite the intensity of the circumstances, the meeting still managed to be painfully boring as Cassian, Tarquin, Drakon, and the other military leaders negotiated their forces. I hadn’t had the opportunity since becoming High Lady to learn all the nuances of our armies, and so I didn’t feel like I had the ability to contribute.

 _I wish I could help_ , I said to Rhys through his mind. _I feel like I have no idea what’s going on._

Rhys squeezed my hand. _You have made all this possible. We wouldn’t be where we are without you. Don’t forget that._

I nodded and listened patiently. In the end, the humans, the islanders, and our allies had arranged a plan of attack. It wasn’t until the meeting had almost come to an end that there was a sharp _crack_ and two figures appeared near the door. Drakon’s guards immediately pulled their swords and the humans from the continent began to run at the sight of a tall, ethereal figure with long fingers and a curtain of white hair over skin just as white. There seemed to be no proper color anywhere on the agendered individual, as though whatever had brought color into this world had simply forgotten to touch this being. Long bangs hung over the being’s eyes, obscuring them, and I could only see thin, chapped lips and cruel teeth.

The figure was startling in the golden hues of the war room, but just as startling was the sight of Amren at their side.

“Forgot to invite us, did you?” Amren asked smoothly, her dark hair rustling against her chin.

Rhys and I stood to our feet, immediately making a barrier between Amren, the Fomorian, and Drakon’s forces.

“We do not negotiate with Fomorians,” Drakon said tersely. “We do not negotiate with _slavers_ of any kind.”

“Then you cannot even negotiate with each other,” I pointed out. “The fae once enslaved humans, so if that is your metric it is in need of serious adjustment.”

“I will not apologize for what my ancestors, nor do I expect you to apologize for what your ancestors did,” said the Fomorian in a voice that chilled my bones. “I am here to settle some concerns.”

“Well, we certainly have concerns,” Drakon said, his deep brown eyes staring unflinchingly at the Fomorian. “We did not invite you or your brethren here. We fought long and hard to protect this place from the likes of Hybern and the likes of you, and we wish your prompt departure from our land.”

“We have no plans to stay,” the Fomorian said, lacing their fingers together. “We wish to exact revenge on Angus of Hybern and his vile armies.”

“Then what?” Miryam asked, her voice sharp but carefully controlled. “What do you intend to do after that?”

Amren cleared her throat. “We plan to go home.”

It seemed as though the earth shifted beneath me. “Home?” I murmured.

Amren looked at me, her silver eyes showing warmth for half a second before she looked back at Drakon and Miryam. “There are a number of very powerful artifacts on this island right now. The Book of Breathings, the Cauldron, and the Sword of Light are all instrumental pieces in opening a way for the Fomorians to return to our ancient homeland.”

“The Sword of Light isn’t here,” Drakon protested.

“Yes it is,” Elain said, drawing all eyes to her. Lucien drew up beside her, circling an arm around her waist protectively.

Elain fingered a gold bracelet around her wrist that I hadn’t noticed amidst the vines that cloaked her arms. She unhooked it and held it in her palm, and I noticed a small charm shaped like a key dangling from it. Her palm glowed, and in the next moment, the bracelet had transformed into an elegant sword--it was the same, I realized, as the one she had taken from Hybern on the ship, but it seemed suited for her size and shape now, as though she had transformed it to suit her. Then I realized that this was her Spring Court magic--the ability to shapeshift what she pleased. Pride warmed my heart at the sight of it.

“Where did that come from? It was given to Dawn Court centuries ago!”

“I don’t know,” Elain said. “I took it from Hybern when we escaped his ships. But . . . I think it belongs to me.” She gave a short, determined nod as she said the words, looking at the sword in her hands.

The Fomorian nodded slowly. “You possess the fae song, I hear. You are the one destined to use the Sword, though you may determine if you use it for good or ill.”

“You said I can open the door home for you?” Elain asked.

The Fomorian nodded again and clicked their fingernails together. “We also need the Cauldron, however, as well as the one with the fae laugh, who can harness its power.”

“Why should I help you?” Nesta asked, glaring at the Fomorian. “I don’t know you.”

The Fomorian’s thin lips twisted up in a grin that was more terrifying than reassuring. “You are mated to one of our descendants, as a place to begin.” Nesta went stiff and Cassian snarled. “For another, my sister Amren has done much for you, has she not? Does she not deserve a chance to return home and find her family?”

Amren’s mouth was tight, but somehow I could read her desperation in her clenched fists and the set of her jaw.

“We need to get the Cauldron away from Hybern first,” Nesta said. “Hybern needs to die, as does Amarantha. Once that happens . . . perhaps.” She looked the Fomorian in their strange face without fear.

The Fomorian’s fingernails clicked together again. “Very well. I shall communicate to my brethren whom they shall help and whom they shall harm. They will only follow in your steps and aid where you struggle. We will not take action upon our own volition, unless there is a risk that our goal cannot be satisfied. Does this satisfy your concerns?” Their head turned back to Drakon and Miryam.

After a long moment in which neither broke their gaze, Drakon nodded. “It does.”

Before I could say another word to Amren, she and the Fomorian vanished.

I gripped Rhys’s hand tight, unable to process the thought of Amren leaving us--of going home. She deserved it--of course she did. But it still hurt to think of Velaris without her.

The tension in the room tangibly released after Amren and the Fomorian left. Drakon let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his dark, shaggy hair. “This meeting is adjourned. I would like to arrange for our allies to review our resources.” His eyes darted between me and Rhys. “Lord Rhysand, would you and your officials care to join me at the barracks and weapons room? Lord Tarquin is welcome as well, of course.”

Rhys dipped his head. “Certainly.” We began to follow Drakon out of the room, but Miryam cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry, Lady Feyre, but I was hoping to introduce you to our healers and enchanters. They may have knowledge that can aid us. Will you join me?”

An inexplicable flicker of distrust flew of my spine, but Miryam seemed sincere.

 _It’s all right_ , Rhys said in my mind as his hand brushed over my shoulder and collarbone. _I’ll be with you, and you with me._

 _Always_ , I said, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. He pressed a kiss to my cheek, light as a feather, and ran his hand through my hair as he left to follow Tarquin, Drakon, and the others.

I offered my arm to Aracely and we followed Miryam off in a separate direction. Elain drifted along with us while Lucien went along with Rhys. Nesta, to no one’s surprise, absolutely refused to be separated from Cassian and went along with him. No one dared argue with her--or Cassian, for that matter. I was a bit perturbed that I wasn’t equally welcome to see the soldiers, but I knew that what Miryam had to show me would be just as critical.

We followed my grandmother out into the gardens, which were dotted with fountains, ferns, and tall, scaly trees. It was peaceful and sunny, and I regretted that the atmosphere of war prevented me from truly enjoying it. Aracely, on the other hand, looked around in awe, gripping my arm tightly.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry things have played out this way,” Miryam said at last, pausing to turn and face us. “I would have loved to meet you properly, and not with such a conflict looming over us.”

“Drakon is not how I expected he’d be,” I confessed. “From the way Mor talked about him . . .”

Miryam’s eyes acquired shadows. “You have not met him under pleasant circumstances. He fought hard for Hybern to be punished after the War, and he knew this day was coming. He is not happy that it has arrived. You are meeting the prince and soldier that he was during the War . . . not the gentle, loving man I know.”

“I heard he adopted my mother as his own,” I said, “so I imagine there is some truth to this.” Miryam’s eyes went wide. “Yes, I know,” I said. “Jurian is my real grandfather. I hope you know that this doesn’t change my desire to see him sorely punished in any way.”

Miryam’s shoulders slumped. “War made Jurian mad. Hatred of the fae . . . even when I loved him he hated that part of me. I tried to talk sense into him on that night, after he had butchered Clythia--who was no friend of mine, but still did not deserve such a fate. I never wanted to see my friends or family driven to such a state by war again. I will not lose Drakon the way I lost Jurian. I want . . . I want to protect my family. Including you.”

“Thank you,” I said softly.

There was movement on another side of the garden, and from a path lined with fronds there emerged four woman, all clad in cold and all radiantly beautiful.

One of them I knew.

I instantly jerked Aracely and Elain behind me as I looked into the exquisite eyes of Uxía, the High Lady of the Dawn Court. She was resplendent in a gown of cream and gold with cutouts that revealed her rich brown skin. Her hair was a crown of spiral curls upon her head, and though she was not clad in armor, I could clearly see the warrior she was in the lines of muscle across her arms. “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Lady Feyre,” Uxía said with a nod. “Princess Aracely. It has been some time since I have seen you. The sunlight suits you.” Aracely said nothing, only watched Uxía with careful eyes. Uxía looked at my sister. “And Lady Elain, I understand?”

“You were supposed to retreat,” Elain said, and I was surprised by the sharpness of her words. “Your court was allied with Spring and Autumn, and both courts are now under new supervision.” I tried not to let my face reveal by shock and pride at the nobility in my sister’s voice and bearing.

“We did retreat,” Uxía said simply, “but there are some matters that I need resolved sooner than your mate’s promises can satisfy.” Uxía’s words were a rich hum, spilling like smooth honey over her lips. “Allow me to introduce my daughters: my eldest, Léocadia; Iria, my heir; and my youngest, Maristela.”

I allowed my gaze to drift to the other women, all just as radiant as their mother. Léocadia had her father’s black hair that curled like her mother’s, and her figure was buxom and muscled, evident despite her silken gown. Iria was almost a mirror-image of her mother, with a narrow chin and small nose in a heart-shaped face. The youngest, Maristela, was thin and reed-like, and I might have thought her frail if not for her wide-legged, defiant stance. But there was one feature they all shared that struck my heart to the core.

All three of them had eyes as black as pitch--no pupil, no iris, no whites. Just black.

“Mari? What happened to you?” Aracely asked, lifting her hand to her mouth.

“Amarantha happened,” Uxía spat. “She locked us underground out of the sun and corrupted their magic--they’re poisoned by their own gifts. Where once they brought joy and life and healing, now they bring pestilence and death and despair. And I’m the only one who can save them.” Uxía’s throat bobbed as she glanced at her daughters, and for a moment I was stricken by a horrible understanding and empathy. This was a mother, doing what she could to save her three daughters. Something my mother had never done. I met Maristela’s eyes and received only a cruel smile in return.

“That’s why your High Lord bargained with Amarantha,” I murmured. “To keep you in the light.”

“Yes,” Uxía said, and her torment was evident in her voice. “I have to free my mate and save my daughters.”

“Let us help!” I said. “We can find a solution.”

“I have a solution,” Uxía said sharply. “If I can augment my powers with the Cauldron, I can rid Hybern of the Mortal Curse, and then he has promised to spare my family and free them from this blight.”

I stiffened. “You think Hybern has any interest in restoring your power to you?” I asked, incredulous. “He’ll harness your poison--he’ll abuse you and your family!”

“I have no other choice!” Uxía cried. She nodded at her daughters, and with a great hiss, the princesses of Dawn thrust out their arms and assaulted us with a cloud of gold-colored dust. I tried to push Elain and Aracely out of the way, but the cloud moved too quickly.

And I couldn’t move.

The poison paralyzed me. It paralyzed my sister and Aracely, too, and we stood, locked in place, looking with horror at Uxía and her daughters and Miryam. The princesses rushed toward us and grabbed us, holding daggers to our throats. I thrashed against the poison that gripped me, but my body made no move in response. _Rhys, I need you!_ I fired down the bond.

 _Feyre!_ I heard him cry in response. _I’m coming!_

“What are you doing?” Miryam cried. “This was not part of the arrangement. I only need you to distract them!”

“Distract us from _what_?” I demanded. My mind, which was quickly being muddied by the poison, hastily sorted through my arsenal. I latched onto my daemati magic and started feeling for the minds of the princesses who held us, but I could not get a grip--it was as though try to grip ice in my hands. My focus was disrupted by the poison and I was quickly losing all my capacity to retaliate. My embers were dim, the ice barely pricking--all of it was slipping away. “Why did you want to distract us, Miryam?”

My answer came in the form of a searing pain down the bond between me and Rhys. I shrieked in agony and tried once more to escape the paralysis, but I was powerless. _Rhys!_ I cried out in my mind. _Rhys, what’s happening?_

 _Traitors_ , was the gasping response down the bond. _Jurian . . . ambush . . ._

My eyes darted wildly to Miryam. “ _What have you done_?” I wailed. “My mate! _What have you done to my mate_?”

Uxía flinched and looked at Miryam. “You didn’t say--”

“Jurian promised they would leave the island if we turned over Rhysand,” Miryam said, sounding suddenly old and weary. “I didn’t want to, not after the friendship we’d once had, but I need to protect what’s most important to me. My family, my home, and you.”

“He lied! They won’t leave! They’ll kill him!” I screamed, tears pouring down my face. “Don’t let them kill my mate! I’ll die instead! _Please_!” But even as I shrieked and wailed, darkness was beginning to cloud my vision, and cold sweat broke out on my brow. Elain and Aracely had already passed out in the arms of the princesses who held them.

Uxía had gone pale as she looked at me, as though she truly had made a mistake and could not turn back. “Iria, my rainbow,” she murmured, looking at her daughter.

Iria laid her palm open before her lips and blew again, and this time a cloud of black dust erupted from her palm. A cloud of black that swirled around my vision, entered my nose, and dragged me down into whatever hell those fragments of pestilence contained.


	65. Chapter 65

**CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE**

I awoke with a drumline in my head, my temple pressed into the moist earth. Some feeling had returned to my limbs, in my fingers, wrists, ankles, and toes, but the rest of me remained limp. I viewed the world sideways as I tried to turn my head to look up and around me. I was no longer in the garden--the wild sounds of birds and other creatures that rang through the trees told me that much. I ran my tongue over the inside of my mouth, feeling the effects of thirst like sandpaper. I groaned to test my voice and found it functional. I blinked away the film from my eyes, and I saw a pair of armored knees positioned not too far from me.

“Where am I?” I demanded in a hoarse voice. “Where have you brought me? My sister? Aracely?” _Rhysand . . . where is Rhysand?_ I searched down the bond, trying to find any sign of my mate, but my senses were still dull, and I could make no sense of our connection while my mind was still so muddied.

“Stay calm, Lady Feyre,” said Uxía’s honeyed voice. “You’re the first to awaken, but your sister and the princess are unharmed beside you.” She shifted and began to lift me into a sitting position. I would have pulled away, but I had no strength. “The effects should wear off shortly.”

Uxía propped me against the scaly bark of a nearby tree, and from this angle I could see that she spoke the truth--Elain and Aracely were still sleeping beside me.

“Where is my mate?” I asked hoarsely. “What has happened to Rhysand?”

Uxía’s expression was solemn. “I do not know exactly, though I will find out soon. What I do know is that Drakon’s barracks were completely destroyed. Your Inner Circle laid them to waste during the ambush.”

Despite the pride that welled in me, tears pricked my eyes. “Were any of them hurt?”

“I do not know.”

“Where is Miryam?” I asked, looking around and finding my grandmother absent.

Uxía’s face darkened. “Léocadia is taking care of that matter. She did not tell us that she was turning over your mate.”

“What difference does that make?” I demanded.

Uxía snarled softly. “I would do _anything_ for my mate. That is a sacred bond, and I would not desecrate it by giving your mate into enemy hands. I was under the impression that Miryam and I wanted the same thing. I was wrong.”

“What _do_ you want?” I narrowed my eyes and glared at Uxía, whose face was softer than I’d seen it before.

“I want my family back,” Uxía breathed, and for the first time I saw the heartbreak in her clear green eyes. “I thought . . . I thought giving you to Hybern would save them, but after seeing what happened to you when they took Rhysand from you . . .” She swallowed and her shoulders trembled. “I know I would be doing the same thing to Rhysand if I let Hybern have you. And I . . . I _can’t_. I can’t destroy someone else’s bond to save my own.”

It was then that I realized I was completely unbound, save for the lingering effects of the poison. Elain and Aracely were both free, as well, and I could see them starting to shift into wakefulness. Perhaps . . . perhaps she was speaking the truth and did not intend to harm us further. “Then what now?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Uxía confessed. “I’ve realized you’re right--Hybern has no intention of healing them. I was so desperate . . . I didn’t see it. But you, Lady Feyre . . . perhaps you can?”

“Me?” I gasped, a shudder passing through me as the paralysis slowly released me further. “I . . . I only have a drop of your mate’s magic. If your magic doesn’t help, mine won’t.”

“But perhaps with the Cauldron?” Uxía lifted her head and suddenly looked around, nostrils flared.

“What is it?” I asked.

The High Lady was on her feet sooner than I could blink, facing toward the trees that had begun rustling around us. The fronds parted, and soon a large, sleek figure in gold armor that matched Uxía’s emerged, looking over the clearing where we were hidden with pitch-black eyes.

Lord Cibrán.

“Cibrán,” Uxía breathed, crossing the clearing to him in three long strides. “Thank the Cauldron you’re all right.” She took his hands in hers, but he barely met her eyes as he continued scanning the clearing. Behind him, the princesses emerged, all of them as silent as their father.

“You have her,” Cibrán said, his voice rich and deep like a cello. He glanced down at Elain and Aracely, who were starting to awaken. “Who are the others?”

“The High Lady of Spring and the Princess of Dawn,” Uxía replied, her hand hovering longingly between herself and her mate. “What happened there, Cib?”

“We had the element of surprise on the Night Court,” Cibrán said, flexing his hands. “But the power of the Illyrians was . . . considerable. The High Lord’s commander took out a hundred men just for coming too close to his mate.”

My heart burned with pride. I had known Cassian’s behavior after the mating bond was secured would be dangerous, and Drakon’s soldiers had chosen the wrong time to provoke him. I could imagine him ripping them apart with his magic and weapons, and I easily saw Nesta at his side, striking them down with her lightning and defending her mate just as much as he defended her.

“Did _anyone_ survive?” Uxía asked in awe.

“Drakon was injured, but I was able to subdue Rhysand enough to deliver him as instructed,” Cibrán said.

I let out a shriek like a hellcat and tried to lunge for him, but I only managed a couple of steps forward, my limbs like stone, before crumbling forward. Uxía caught me and kept me upright, but I spat at her mate’s feet. “What have you done?” I raged.

“Cibrán, this is all a mistake,” Uxía said. “We cannot turn the Night Court over to him. It won’t save our daughters.”

“Our daughters don’t need saving,” Cibrán said, and he turned to stride back into the forest. “Let’s go,” he said, jerking his head to his daughters. Iria lifted Elain and Maristela helped Aracely to her feet. Both were conscious now, but dazed.

“Cibrán, we can’t,” Uxía protested. “He’ll kill them.”

“And?” Cibrán asked. “That’s not our concern.”

“Stop! This is not who you are,” Uxía said. “We can find another way.”

“No.” The High Lord gestured to his daughters and they began to roughly lead Elain and Aracely away, all while I struggled to stay upright on my feet.

“Leave them alone!” I cried. “You don’t need them!”

Black eyes fixed on me. “You will comply if we have them, too.”

“Cibrán!” Uxía cried, her voice broken. “Don’t let her get hurt. She can help you! Help our daughters! She has some of your magic . . . she can heal you!”

“I don’t _need_ healing!” Cibrán spat.

“You do,” Aracely whispered, and Maristela stopped jostling her. “But Feyre can’t accomplish what you need her to.”

“How do you know?” Uxía demanded.

“Because,” Aracely gasped, her hand flying to her throat, “I can do it.”

A shocked silence fell over everyone in the clearing.

“Aracely?” I asked. Aracely broke a gold chain around her throat and held out the necklace for us to see. The charm was a little glass vial filled with a small amount of clear liquid. “Are those . . .?”

“Sundrops,” she said, her palm trembling. “I couldn’t bring much, but . . . it might be enough.”

Uxía’s eyes were wide. “You took Sundrops? I thought they could not leave the Day Court!”

“That is the tale we tell to waylay thieves and invaders,” Aracely said, her voice growing stronger as the fatigue slipped away. “But, for those who truly need them, they should still work even outside of the Sun Temple.”

“I thought you said one needed to have performed a service to the Day Court,” I said.

Aracely gave me a look that seemed scolding, and I closed my mouth. “If they do not turn me over to Hybern, I will consider that a service to the Day Court. Please, Lady Uxía,” Aracely said, holding out the vial of Sundrops. “Try them. I cannot promise they will work, but I heard what you said about your mate. I think the magic . . . I think it will respect that.”

Uxía swallowed and carefully accepted the vial. She turned to her second daughter, her heir. “Iria?” she asked. “Please, my rainbow.”

“How do you know you can trust her?” Cibrán demanded, making to snatch the vial away from his mate, who kept it out of his reach. “You would put our heir at risk?”

“She is at risk every moment,” Uxía said. “Please, come back to me, Iria.”

Iria looked from her father to her mother, and then fixed her black eyes on the vial in her mother’s hand. Her brow furrowed. She shook her head.

“I’ll do it, Iria,” Maristela said, suddenly stepping forward. I hadn’t heard her speak yet, and her voice was like a bird’s, lilting and airy. “I’m the expendable one.”

Léocadia hissed at her sister. “You are not!” she spat.

Mari just smiled slightly and took the vial from her mother’s palm. “I remember you from Under the Mountain,” she said to Aracely. “I don’t think you’d try to hurt me.”

Aracely’s eyes were glassy, but she nodded. “Just three drops.”

Maristela popped open the cap of the vial and tipped her head back, allowing three drops of the liquid to fall onto her tongue. She closed the lid, but in the next moment she let out a strangled cry and began to quake.

“Mari!” Uxía cried, releasing me to hold her daughter. I managed to stay upright, enough to see Mari’s skin turn pale and the tips of her fingers blacken. Then, a tar-like ichor began leaking from her fingers, dropping onto the ground where it hissed and sizzled. Streaks of black ran down her cheeks and she squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. After a long moment, Maristela stopped shaking. She pulled back from her mother and opened her eyes, and Uxía gasped when she saw that they had returned to the same light green color as her own.

The High Lady let out a wail of delight and crushed her youngest daughter into her arms. “Mari! Mari! It worked! Oh, my little lightning bug! How do you feel?”

Maristela took a deep breath and smiled. Then laughed. “Mami! I haven’t felt this good in a year!” She squeezed her mother back and then turned to face her sisters. “It’s safe, Leo! Iria! It will take the poison away!”

Léocadia’s grin was feral as she snatched the vial from her youngest sister. She threw her head back and took the Sundrops faster than I could register. She made quite a bit more of a fuss than her sister, but soon the poisoned magic drained out of her as well, and she let out a whoop of relief. Her eyes, a rich and deep brown, smoldered with satisfaction. Finally, the vial was passed to Iria.

“Iria!” Cibrán snarled. “Will you let them weaken you? You have such great power! Will you sacrifice it when the world is at your fingertips?”

“I don’t want the world, Papi,” she murmured, and she took her dose of the cure.

When the black had cleared out of her eyes, Iria looked even more like a replica of Uxía than she had before. Not only that, but her power--her place as heir to the Dawn Court--was apparent in her bearing and in the slight pink glow that seemed to dance about her skin. The sisters and their mother threw their arms around each other, and I felt Elain’s arm wrap around mine. “It’s beautiful,” she sighed. Her voice was still thick with fatigue, but she seemed unharmed, and I held her close.

“Papi,” Iria said, turning to her father at last. “You see? I am no less powerful. There was a time when you hated the poison, the pestilence. When you bargained with Amarantha to ensure that we would never have to suffer it. Be free with us, Papi!” Tears pricked the corner of Iria’s eyes, and she extended her hand to her father.

Cibrán stiffened and snarled. “I am free!” He swiped again for the vial as though to knock it from his daughter’s hands, but he froze mid-air and looked up, his lips peeled back from his teeth.

The air was suddenly very hot.

The trees around us suddenly caught flame and Aracely screamed. The three princesses and the High Lady instantly drew their weapons--a sword for Uxía and Léocadia, a set of brutal handheld tridents for Iria, and a long rod for Maristela. I too summoned my ice magic around my hand, prepared to quench the fire if needed.

The trees groaned with approaching power. In the next moment a pair of trunks bowed away from each other with the force of the heat, and Lucien emerged from between the trees, hands blazing and his eyes promising pain. Beside him was Tarquin, balancing an orb of boiling water in his hands, preparing to launch it at his enemies.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson the last time, Uxía!” seethed Lucien, directing his ire toward her. “Yet you thought it wise to come for my mate a second time!”

“Lucien!” Elain cried, but he did not look at her. Instead, he launched a pulse of fire toward the High Lady and her daughters.

It never reached them. Instead, a wall of vines was erected as a shield before them, and they caught fire, allowing the flame to fizzle out before it could harm the Dawn Court. Lucien’s good eye went wide and his gaze finally snapped to Elain. “Elain?” he gasped.

“They’re not hurting us!” Elain said. “You can stop!”

Lucien’s flames went out in a blink, leaving only the dim light of the setting sun to illuminate the scene. Tarquin kept his orb of water spinning in the air over his hands, but when his blue eyes met Aracely’s, it became significantly smaller.

“They won’t turn us in,” Elain said. “They just wanted to cleanse their magic, and now they have! Only Lord Cibrán--”

I gasped as the High Lord winnowed across the clearing to stand behind me and hold a tiny blade to my throat. “Lord Cibrán,” he growled, “keeps his promises.”

“Papi!” cried Iria. “Let her go!”

“I am building your court for you, Iria,” he declared. “You will hold a place of honor in this new world. You and all your sisters!”

“Cibrán!” His mate looked at him, wide-eyed. “This is not who you are! Release her!”

“Release her, or we’ll incinerate you until you’re nothing but ashes,” Lucien vowed. Léocadia snarled at him but made no move.

“If we destroy the Night Court, glory is ours!” Cibrán crowed. “And nothing will be able to weaken us again! Never!”

I could feel his touch leaching away my power--as though even his skin was toxic now. I searched for his mental shields, trying to break in and weaken him so that he could take the Sundrops and be freed . . . but his shields were insurmountable in my weary, unfocused state.

Then I realized something.

If he took me to Hybern, he would likely take me to Rhys. And if I could get near Rhys . . .

Nothing in all of Prythian would be able to stop us.

I put on a bit of a show of struggling, all to distract the High Lord while I sent a message into Lucien’s mind--his mental shields were stronger now that he was a High Lord, but I had been in his mind before and it was far easier to slip in now. _Let him take me_ , I said. _Come find me and Rhys . . . and then we’ll destroy them all._

Lucien’s russet eye flickered, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You’ll regret this,” I hissed to Cibrán.

The High Lord chuckled, and the sound sent tremors down my spine. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

Then the world folded into wind and shadow around us as Cibrán winnowed us away from my friends, away from his family, and deep into the fray.


	66. Chapter 66

**CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX**

The chaos had already erupted by the time Cibrán and I touched down in the wide clearing that surrounded the Stone of Danann. I let out a whoosh of breath and fought off a wave of dizziness as Cibrán’s magic still drained me. I could get away--I could fight, as long as I could gain enough strength to disarm Cibrán. I gritted my teeth and sifted through my arsenal while Cibrán dragged me along the edge of the clearing toward where I assumed Hybern was waiting.

Waiting with Rhys, I hoped.

I had to get free of Cibrán, but most of my magic slipped out of my grip like water. Except one. The more brutal of my magic, but perhaps the one that could hurt Cibrán most.

I focused all of my attention on my hands, watching as my fingernails grew and extended, curling into brutal black tips. I made no sign of my effort, and Cibrán’s gaze was focused straight ahead. So he did not expect it when I whipped around in his grip and slashed him across the face with my talons. He roared, and in his surprise, he released me and staggered back.

My magic flared to life and I cloaked myself in darkness and wrath, allowing my wings to spread behind me. Cibrán clutched his face, which was streaming with blood even as the wounds closed before my eyes. He righted himself and his black eyes narrowed as he snarled at me, spreading his hands before him to assault me with his poison gas.

My body instantly reacted to the memory of the last time I had faced him on the battlefield, and I erected a shield of air before me to dissipate the gas and protect myself from its effects. Then, I shoved the air at him like a wall, and he went flying backward into the thick brush of the jungle.

I ran.

As I ran, I opened one of the small pocket realms in which I stored valuable things--my ring was there now, but I pulled out the gauntlets that Rhys had given me. The thick armor spread over my arms and legs as I ran along the edge of the clearing, and my sword thudded at my thigh. I drew it and skirted around the fighting, trying to make sense of who and what was around me.

I leapt up into the air and beat my wings until I could perch in the branches of a tree, somewhat obscured but still able to make my assessment. I could see Drakon’s forces in their golden armor with their spread wings, but they were fighting Hybern’s troops and the Fomorians all alike. The humans seemed to fight whatever attacked them, and I cringed as I watched none other than Tomas Mandray--what was he _doing_ here?--get snatched up by a winged Fomorian and dropped to the earth, only to be impaled on the spiked back of another beast whose allegiance I could not discern. Fae wearing armor of all courts of Prythian savagely cut down their enemies, and I could see Illyrians swooping in and slaying anyone who threatened them.

It was absolutely bedlam.

I reached down the bond, needing to find Rhys, to get some sort of direction on where to look for him. There was no tug in response to my prodding, but neither was it as limp and cold as it had been when we had left each other after the Court of Nightmares. He was still alive--still breathing, and not far away.

I turned my head slowly, taking in as much detail as I could, discarding extraneous information as quickly as it came to me. To the north, Fomorians were fighting Hybern’s troops, but there was no sign of any leaders. No king. I ignored that quadrant. Beneath me in the west, there were humans fighting lesser fae from the Dawn Court, but this too was unimportant to me.

I focused longer on the south, which I saw Illyrians swirling through the sky. I focused, using my heightened sense to identify who was fighting. The crowd was more mixed, and I could hardly tell who was on what side. But, in the midst of them all, I saw darts of lightning licking through, disabling their targets and sending smoke up into the air. I traced the lightning to its source and was relieved and terrified to see Nesta standing amidst the raging army, her brass hair whipped around her head with the force of the storm winds she generated. Nothing could come near her. Nothing could touch her--not with Cassian positioned ten feet in front of her, ripping open his enemies with his brutal swords and evaporating the approaching targets with the red power of his Siphons.

The two of them were a sight to behold. Cassian’s wings were spread behind him, and he was a hulking shape, a living shield before my sister, and I had never seen him so wild, so . . . unhinged. His teeth were bared and he was splattered with blood and gore, but he showed no signs of stopping or tiring.

Several things clicked into place at once. I needed to get to them, and I needed to get my sister to the Cauldron. It would respond to her, react to her--obey her. Perhaps she could take control away from Hybern, and we could take away one of his greatest advantages. And where the Cauldron was, Hybern was. Where Hybern was . . . that’s where I would find Rhys.

I extended my wings and leapt from the tree, coasting through the humid, iron-tanged air stinging my tongue. Smoke and sweat and blood permeated the atmosphere, but I swallowed past the lump in my throat to coast downward, maintaining a shield of air around me to defend me from stray fires or directed arrows. I whistled as I drifted down toward my sister. Her icy blue eyes snapped up to me and she allowed her storm winds to settle enough to let me drop down beside her.

“Feyre!” she gasped, even as lightning continued to dart from her hands like snake tongues. “You’re all right!”

“So are you!” I cried in return, wishing I could throw my arms around her but instead launching my magic at her flank. I stood back-to-back with her, defending her weaker angle while Cassian covered her front. “Where’s Rhys?”

“We lost him,” Nesta said, tilting her head back so I could hear her over the din. “He took out almost two hundred men without blinking, but the traitor High Lord knocked him out before he could react, and we were too caught up fighting the others to stop him from winnowing off.”

I cursed Cibrán under my breath as I shot shards of ice at approaching soldiers. “Do you know where he took him?”

“Probably not far from the Stone, if I had to guess,” Nesta replied.

“Hybern still has the Cauldron, and he can keep resurrecting his soldiers if we don’t get it away from him,” I said, wondering how this had not occurred to me yet. “We need to get it away from him. If we get you close, can you commandeer it?”

“Most likely,” Nesta said with gritted teeth, and she sent a tiny cyclone whirling at a cluster of troops that charged us.

“Cassian!” I cried. The commander whirled, nostrils flared, and he cracked a grin when he saw me.

“Nice of you to finally show up!” he barked, and despite his wildness he was still very much my friend.

“I was a bit tied up!” I called back with a grin. I jerked my chin toward the hill. “We need to get Nesta to the Cauldron.”

Cassian looked at my sister and she nodded. “Follow my lead,” Cassian said, his snarl returning. He raised his hand and blasted a path for us out of a crowd of lesser faeries, and I continued protecting us from enemies at our rear. Nesta’s storm swirled around us, fierce but contained, enough to shield us but not enough to overwhelm.

We plowed across the field, and as the crowd cleared before us, I saw a glimpse of blond darting through the melee. “Mor!” Cassian hollered, and our Third whipped her head up. Blood was smeared on her face and it looked like she’d taken a punch to the side of her head, judging from the black and blue mottling there. Yet she grinned like Cassian had, and she shot out her arm to mark a dozen enemies with her kiss of death. She glanced to her side and bent over, and then a blur of shadow rushed toward her. Swords drawn, Azriel barrel-rolled over her back, firing arrows of blue at all the enemies Mor had just marked. They moved with such synchronization that my heart stilled for half a moment as I watched them in wonder.

Then, another golden-headed figure dashed across them toward Mor, and when I recognized him I screamed, “Mor, look out!”

Mor’s brown eyes went wide as she saw her father charging at her, sword raised. How and why he had come did not matter--he was taking advantage of the chaos to end Mor while Rhys was nowhere nearby to stop him . . . and while he had nothing left to lose.

Azriel’s blade slid between his ribs like a butter knife, impaling Keir with sickening ease. Keir choked, and his eyes were discs. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Azriel’s hazel eyes seared into Keir’s, and with a merciless snarl Azriel twisted the blade in Keir’s torso. Keir could not even scream.

Azriel withdrew his sword and Keir’s body fell to the ground, limp. Mor stared at it, a tempest of emotions on her face. I stared too, but my only thought was pty for Azriel. It had not been the slow, excruciating death he had wanted to bestow on Keir. But there was satisfaction on his face nonetheless.

“We’re heading to the Cauldron,” Cassian said. “Can you hold things together down here?”

Azriel nodded silently and Cassian clapped him on the shoulder. Mor shivered as though shaking off a cloak, and then her eyes trained again on the enemies surrounding her . . . her father’s corpse already forgotten in the muddied, bloodied ground.

Cassian, Nesta, and I continued our destructive path through the battling armies, and soon we were near the foot of the hill. No fighting occurred on the slope itself, as though something in all of us knew that it was sacred ground, not to be desecrated with murder or brutality.

Someone forgot to tell Cibrán.

He winnowed onto the hill before us, palm spread out, and suddenly Cassian and Nesta both were choking on whatever pestilence he had unleashed. Nesta’s storm ceased as she dropped to her knees. Cassian managed to stay upright, but he could take no more than a single staggering step forward, to Nesta.

I hissed at Cibrán, but he had snatched me by the arm again before I could leap away, and he began dragging me across the curved side of the hill. I shrieked even as I felt my magic be stymied _again_. I reached out for his mind, hoping that now I might be able to grab it . . .

Cibrán snatched my hair and used it to drag me along, but I reared back and spat in his face, grappling for my magic and launching my full weight at him. He raised his arm to strike me, but before he could make contact his eyes went wide and his hand flew to his neck instead. There, sticking out of his strong neck, was a set of bright feathers, the fletching of a dart that was sticking out of his throat. He snarled and pulled it from his skin. Whatever effect had been intended seemed not to take hold, and he cast the dart to the ground and reached out to drag me again.

“Papi!”

Cibrán released me and looked toward the voice that had called to him. There, standing just a little lower on the hill than we were, stood Princess Iria. Her bright green eyes were filled with fury, and in her hand was a tiny whistle-like device. She tucked it away in a pouch on her hip and instead drew out a long knife with an obsidian blade and a intricately carved and painted handle. She pointed its harsh tip toward her father and said, “Let her go, Papi.”

“Iria,” Cibrán growled in his deep voice. “Do not challenge me.”

“I will challenge you if I please!” she cried. “It is my right as heir!”

“Where are your sisters?”

“Fighting,” Iria said. “Fighting off the bloodshed you helped bring about!” She angled her chin just slightly and I looked behind her to see Maristela arching through the air, vaulting off the long rod she used as a weapon. Nearby, Léocadia was hacking apart her foes with her own weapon--I had thought it was a sword, but now I could see that it was in fact a long wooden bat with serrated obsidian blades spiking from it. The garbled screams of its victims rang through the air.

“Wars are not won with hand-holding!” Cibrán snarled. “I thought I had taught you better!”

“You did,” Iria said, drawing a second knife to match the first from her arsenal. “I will draw _your_ blood if need be to stop you from hurting yourself or anyone else!”

“Iria!” Cibrán snapped.

“‘Fight me, Father!” Iria lowered herself into a crouching deftly, spinning the knives in her hands as her peridot eyes blazed.

Cibrán let out a long growl, and he shoved me roughly away until I tumbled onto the grass and slid down the hill closer to Cassian and Nesta. Above the din of the battle below, I heard a ringing cry, a war bleat, as Iria lunged toward her father, obsidian blades slicing through the air.

Whatever warfare was practiced in the Dawn Court seemed far more like dancing than anything else. It was coordinated, graceful, and I could tell from watching the two of them that Cibrán had been the one to train Iria, for her moves were his, only adapted to suit her smaller frame. He lunged at her and she launched herself to slide on her back between his spread legs. She leapt up behind him, graceful as a cattail reed, and made to slide her blade up in the gap in his armor beneath his right arm.

Cibrán caught her wrist in his and twisted, and she let her full weight drop to the ground, throwing off his balance and allowing her to wriggle free.

I tore my eyes away from the fight long enough to remove one of my gauntlets and slice my palm open on my hands, offering my blood to Cassian and Nesta. Cassian accepted it without hesitation, while Nesta bothered to cast me a disgusted look before she too swallowed it. They were back on their feet in a matter of moments, and we ran higher on the hill to skirt around the High Lord and his heir battling on the hillside.

I didn’t stop until I heard the wail.

I whipped my head around and saw that Cibrán had successfully tackled Iria onto the ground and held her down with his arm at her throat, cutting off her air supply and holding his own obsidian blade over her head.

I was going to keep moving.

But then I saw the three sisters embracing, savoring their freedom. I saw Iria’s pink glow, complimenting Maristela’s quiet nobility and Léocadia’s fierce vigor. Together, they were the perfect sum of the nature of their court. Three sisters, one whole. And in them, for the briefest moment, I saw myself, Elain, and Nesta. Fighting for each other, even when the darkness tried to take us.

I couldn’t leave Iria behind.

I heard Cassian calling my name, but I didn’t heed him as I charged toward Cibrán, drawing my sword. I leapt through the air, pulsing once with my wings, and I threw my full weight into his chest. He flew back and suddenly I was mounted on his chest, my own sword at his throat.

“Papi!” Iria shrieked, staggering upright and running to him. “Papi, please! Stop . . . stop fighting.” She sank to her knees beside him and gently blew on her palm, sending a cloud of white dust over his face. He stopped struggling beneath me, though his nostrils were still flared and his black eyes wild, but the fight was sapped out of him by Iria’s calming dust. Tears streaked down the princess’s face as she opened her palm to him and held out the vial of Sundrops. “Just . . . just do it for me, Papi. Just for me. For Mami.” Behind her, the High Lady and the other two princesses had risen from the fray and were watching with wide, fearful eyes as I held a blade to their High Lord’s throat.

Cibrán’s eyes flicked from the vial to his daughter’s tear-streaked face, and then the skin around his mouth went pale as, for half a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d been about to do.

He’d been about to kill his own daughter.

As though he had survived a hundred years of thirst and the vial was the first liquid he’d seen in all that time, Cibrán snatched the vial and knocked back the Sundrops in little more than a blink.

Then he started screaming.

I leapt back from Cibrán, sheathing my sword, and watching in petrified silence as the black ichor leaked not only out of his eyes and fingers, but seemingly out of every pore. As he screamed, black gas poured out from his mouth and Uxía pulled Iria out of range. The High Lady herself was tormented--feeling her mate’s agony through their bond. Still she remained upright and strong in front of her daughters, despite the agony she had to be feeling.

Cibrán screamed and screamed, and the sound cracked something in my heart that I hadn’t known I could feel. Sympathy on a level so deep, so profound, that I knew I couldn’t feel it for anyone else who did not have a mate bond. This was a sympathy in my instincts, locked in a well within me that nothing else but a mate bond could crack. And I suddenly realized why  Uxía had changed her mind about hurting me and Rhys. Because she _knew_. Just as I knew now. This . . . it was something sacred, and pure, and so powerful that it could wreck us all.

Cibrán went hoarse as he thrashed against the grass, but at long last he stilled, breathing deep and gasping. His mate rushed to his side and propped him up in her arms. “Cibrán!” she cried. “My love! Are you all right? Speak to me!”

Cibrán cleared his throat, and with a groan he pulled up and situated himself on his knees before her, head bowed. “Uxía,” he rasped. She cupped his cheek in her hand and he placed his hand over hers. Then, he raised his head and opened his eyes.

The black was gone, replaced with a brown like the barks of the trees in the deepest jungle, like the pelts of the wild things that burst through the undergrowth, like the feathers of the eagles that soared above the trees.

Beautiful, pure brown eyes.

Uxía burst into tears and threw herself into her mate’s arms, and he wrapped his arms around her, humming and murmuring in her ear, pausing only when she began to kiss him all over his face.

And I knew just as I had known before that this was a sacred thing. And it was not for my eyes. So I withdrew in silence, slipping back up the hill toward Cassian and my sister.

“Wait.” The voice was Cibrán’s. “You saved us. You saved us all.”

“I didn’t,” I said quietly. “The Sundrops did. Aracely did.”

“We are grateful to you nonetheless,” the High Lord said, still holding his mate tightly in his arms. “We are at your service. This battle is far from over, but we want to help you in whatever way we can. Will you accept this as a sign of our gratitude?”

I looked from the High Lord and High Lady to their daughters. Even the eldest had tears on her face. “I do,” I breathed. I didn’t even have to think about it. Some part of the mate bond stirred in response to what I had just witnessed, and I knew that now that they were cured, I could trust them.

“Where do you need to go?” Uxía asked.

“Up there,” I said, jerking my chin toward the top of the hill. “I need to save my mate.”


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting a general trigger warning for violence on this one, guys.

 

**CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN**

I raced along the edge of the hill, marking the enemies below and the allies around me. Cassian and Nesta charged ahead. Uxía was further uphill on my right. Cibrán was behind me, and their three daughters were running below me and to my left. Spells fired at use from below, but but Cassian and I shielded our group from them. Iria sent a wave of her black dust at a cluster of soldiers, and they all went down, instantly asleep. Léocadia hacked down any bold enough to get too close, and Maristela darted around and disabled stragglers with nothing but her wooden rod and her nimble frame.

The light around us had dimmed significantly as the sun had finally vanished beneath the treeline, but I was too full of adrenaline for it to make much of a difference. I bolted along the hillside, and soon I felt a thrum of magic in the earth beneath my feet.

We were getting close.

I skidded to a halt as I laid eyes on a cluster of figures gathered on a more level section of the hill. The easiest thing to spot was Amarantha, with her flaming red hair flowing down her back. I thought I could glimpse Hybern’s armor, and Jurian’s off-balance posture. I gestured to my friends and said, “We can’t just go charging in. They’ll almost certainly have wards.”

“I can wipe out their grunts,” Cibrán said. “Give me a moment, and I’ll send Uxía a signal.” The High Lord crept along the hillside like a cat, climbing up near the ring of stones and approaching the gathering. When he was within range, he held out his palms before him and cast out a silvery gas that floated on the breeze toward our enemies. It was mere moments before the lesser faeries started choking.

“I thought you got rid of the poison?” I asked Léocadia, who was turning her vicious weapon in her hands.

“Healing has many methods,” the eldest princess replied. “Sometimes granting sleep or paralysis or dulled senses does more good for the body than harm. These things are not poisons in themselves--but they come in handy in a fight like this.” She grinned and her white teeth flashed.

“They’re down,” Uxía said, gesturing for us to follow her. “It only took out the weaker ones. Amarantha and Hybern are on alert.”

We had skirted around below the group, and I could hear Amarantha shrieking at Hybern and Jurian, who argued in return. I finally caught a glimpse of the Cauldron between them, the Spear of Lugh still dipped into it. A few more steps along and my body locked up. My blood turned to ice, my bones to stone, and my vision narrowed to a dark head pressed down onto the ground, limbs and wings splayed out and pinned with ash stakes.

Rhys.

My wrath took over all of my other senses then. I drew my sword and cloaked myself in vengeful shadows as I charged up the hill, prepared to hack down anyone and anything that came between me and my mate.

They would all die for this.

I screamed and cut down the few warriors who had not been disabled by Cibrán’s magic. I was a vortex of night, my magic lashing out like whips and my sword cutting through the air. I kept my wings tight to my body--I needed to be small to do the most damage. I vaguely heard Cassian and Nesta calling after me, but I paid them no mind. Blood splattered on my face and bones crunched beneath my feet. I saw nothing but Rhysand’s weakened body ahead of me, and nothing would get in my way.

“I recommend you stop that nonsense, Lady Feyre,” said Hybern. Suddenly, my stomach tightened as though someone had lassoed me and was dragging me back. I could not continue forward. I whirled around to the source of the magic and saw Hybern with one palm outstretched toward me and the other on the handle of the Spear of Lugh.

“Release my mate!” I snarled. “You do not need him. I’m the one you want!”

“I do want you,” Hybern agreed as though he were having an amiable conversation, “but I also need him subdued.”

“Are we at a stalemate, then?” I asked, clenching my fist.

“Hardly. You see, if you do not submit to me and help me achieve my rightful crown, I will release this Spear from the Cauldron. It has already tasted blood, you recall. If I remove it from the Cauldron, it will desire more blood. It has quite the insatiable appetite.”

My heart stilled. I looked from Jurian’s smug face to Amarantha’s wicked expression, then to the battle below, which raged on without any signs of stopping. My friends had hung back, avoiding discovery for now. If I didn’t submit to him, do what he wanted . . . so many innocent people would die. My eyes locked on Amarantha’s and for the first time in a great while, I heard the sickening sound of thrusting that ash dagger into those innocent hearts Under the Mountain. More . . . so many more would die if I did not give them what they wanted.

I lowered my sword. Calmed the raging night around me.

Before I could even blink, Jurian had clamped blue stone manacles around my hands and my magic went entirely quiet.

“Finally, you’re being reasonable,” Hybern said.

And he lifted the Spear out of the Cauldron.

I screamed and lunged forward as though I could catch the Spear before it escaped, but I was too late. It barrelled down the hill into the battle and plunged through a human fighter, streaking right through him as though he was made of paper. The Spear lifted into the sky and then seemed to choose another target. A crunch of bone. A garbled shriek.

Again. Again. And again.

The Spear laced through the sky like some sort of sick needle stitching corpses together and dying the world with blood. I struggled, fought, and burning tears streamed down my face.

“Feyre!” boomed a voice, and suddenly Cassian was rising up over the hill, Nesta at his side. They raced toward me, their magic streaking through the air with the intent to kill. More warriors went down, and Hybern’s eyes went a little wide at the sight of Nesta at her full strength. He had done this. He had Made her. And she was determined to be the one to kill him.

Cassian knocked aside opponents like insects as he charged toward me, extending his hand for me to take. But then Hybern whistled and the Spear, far beyond them over the battlefield, changed direction and came rushing straight for Cassian.

“ _No_!” I shrieked. “Cassian, _get down!_ ”

Cassian whirled to see the approaching Spear, and with a huge arm he knocked Nesta far away from him, his Siphons glowing as though he was prepared to take on the Spear all by himself. He shot bolts of red at it, but they had no effect. The Spear had chosen him as its target.

He realized that he could not knock it from the sky and leapt to the side, hoping it avoid its strike, but it turned in the air toward him, unrelenting. He roared and clenched his eyes shut, trying to erect a red shield before himself, but the Spear was close, so close . . .

A massive shadow leapt in front of Cassian and blue mixed with red, shadows swirling everywhere, making it almost impossible for me to see Azriel’s face as he stared down the Spear. Closer and closer it pelted through the air, but even their combined magic was not enough to stop it. When the Spear had come too close, Azriel knocked Cassian to the side and stared the spear down, shadowed wrath over his features.

He was going to take the hit for his brother.

My screams had become hoarse, and I could hardly form his name on my lips as the Spear came only a whisper away--

\--and a small figure leapt into his arms, taking the brunt of the Spear’s attack.

The wail of agony that broke from Mor’s lips as the Spear plunged into her back was a sound I would never forget for the rest of eternity.

“ _MOR! AZRIEL!_ ” Cassian roared as the Spear cut them both down like they were one body. They fell to the ground, their blood mingling and staining the earth, trickling in tiny rivulets down the hill. They hadn’t let go of each other.

“ _Cassian, the Spear_!” I shrieked, and by some miracle my voice broke through the horror on Cassian’s face. Before the Spear could lift into the air again and seek out another target, he snatched it in his massive hands, struggling to hold on as it fought against his grip.

I heard Amarantha scream in outrage, but I had eyes only for my friends, clinging to each other even as they fought against their mortal wounds. They gasped for breath and I saw them find each other’s eyes. Azriel’s hand brushed Mor’s muddy hair from her face, and her head fell against his chest, her face and lips pale as the blood drained out of her. He shook and his hand fell limply beside him. I saw Mor’s mouth move faintly, and then Azriel’s head fell back against the grassy slope.

They were gone.

I fell to my knees and vomited, but when I raised my head I saw that the Cauldron, which had been less than a yard away from me moments before, had vanished. This was what had elicited Amarantha’s scream. I looked back toward Cassian and Azriel and Mor, and I saw Nesta appear beside them, Cauldron before her. With a tortured roar, Cassian plunged the tip of the Spear back into the waters of the Cauldron, and it instantly stopped seeking to quench its thirst for blood.

“Get it out of here,” I said, but I could not hear my own voice, let alone know if Nesta and Cassian could hear me. But whether or not they heard me, they knew the plan. Azriel and Mor. _Azriel and Mor_.

My friends.

Cassian’s hazel eyes, filled with tears, burned into Hybern’s black gaze. Nesta’s icy ones were their match. With a ferocious snarl, Cassian declared, “You will _die_ for this, you sick bastard!” Then he grabbed Nesta, Azriel, and Mor, and Cibrán appeared beside them, only to winnow them away into the night.

 _Save them save them save them_ I begged in my soul, not caring that Cibrán couldn’t even hear me, not caring that it was probably too late. I couldn’t lose them . . . not now.

I remained on my knees, trembling, until Jurian hauled me back onto my feet shoving me toward Hybern and Amarantha. “Why?” I gasped. It was the only word my lips would form.

“Why not?” Hybern asked with a shrug.

Hatred and vitriol surged through my blood, worsening the taste of vomit in my mouth. “I did everything you asked!” I cried.

“You forget that I have other scores to settle with your friends,” Hybern said. “But now we have altogether a different problem.” Jurian kicked me in the back of the knees and I was down again, Hybern holding a ash dagger to my throat. “Where did they take the Cauldron?”

“I don’t know,” I spat.

Hybern struck me across the face and I tasted blood mixing with the vomit. “Not the right answer,” he seethed. “I am rather _tired_ ,” he said, “of you and your pathetic little court disrupting me at every turn. This should have been so _easy_!”

“You think we would just sit by and let you destroy our world?” I demanded. “You seek nothing but glory--you don’t want what’s best for Prythian!”

“How quaint. The newly-fledged High Lady thinks she can lecture _me_ on what it means to be a king!” Hybern boomed with laughter. “ _Tell me where it is_!”

“I don’t _know_ where it is!” I snapped. It was the truth--I had deliberately avoided discussing or hearing that part of the plan, just in case this very situation occurred.

How had I known?

“Angus, dear,” Amarantha crooned, stepping toward us. “I think I know what might make her a little more . . . _cooperative_.”

“Oh?” Hybern asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Jurian, you might like this,” Amarantha said with a chuckle. She strode to Hybern’s left where Rhys was still pinned to the ground by ash stakes, unconscious.

Panic flared in me. “Don’t touch him!” I cried.

“Oh, I’ve already touched him, dear,” Amarantha said. “I’ve touched him everywhere. Have you?”

I shrieked in outrage and struggled against the chains and hands that held me back. “You _bitch_!” I roared as I thrashed. I was rewarded by another strike across the face.

“Yes, I know,” Amarantha said tightly. She kicked Rhysand’s shoulder. “Wake up, High Lord. We have some matters that need your assistance.”

Rhys stirred and lifted his head, but it was clearly an effort, as though he was lifting a great weight. His weary eyes fell on me and instantly sparked. “Let her go!” he snarled, jerking about as he tried to break free. The ash stakes in his wings tore through the membranes, though, and he clenched his teeth and stopped trying to break free. Blue stone chains were crossed over his back and he was pinned down like an animal.

My High Lord.

“Rhys,” I whimpered. “I’m sorry!” I failed I failed I failed. I was supposed to free him. I never wanted to see him like this. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry._

Our ability to speak in our minds was silenced, but he locked eyes with me and on his face I could read everything. Somehow, he forgave me. Somehow, he didn’t want me to fear.

“Now, Rhysand, we have a bit of a predicament,” Amarantha said. “Your little friends have gotten away with the Cauldron, and we need to know where they’ve hidden it. Convince your High Lady to reveal its location to us.”

“I told you, I don’t know!” I cried. “He doesn’t know either. Just leave him out of this!”

“He’s already quite involved,” Amarantha tsked. “Now, one of you is going to tell us where the Cauldron has been taken, or else things are going to get very painful for one of you.” From the belt at her waist, she drew out a vicious-looking ash dagger, as long as her forearm and with a serrated edge. It looked like a jawbone.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, horror stilling my heart.

Amarantha straddled Rhysand’s back, examining the wicked knife in her hands. “Tell me where the Cauldron is.”

“Feyre,” Rhys said, swallowing hard. His eyes were wide, panicked. “Feyre, do you know?”

I shook my head. “I don’t, I don’t!”

“Liars,” Amarantha hissed. Then bent down over Rhysand, extending the vicious looking knife to Rhysand’s back, right where his wing connected to his body.

And began to cut.


	68. Chapter 68

**CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT**

The sound of Rhysand’s scream splintered me.

Ravaged me.

It shattered something so deep within me that I knew a thousand millennia of living would never be able to heal it. I would never, as long as I lived, forget that sound. I could feel every slice and cut in my own back as though she were taking my wings, too. I could see, hear, feel, taste nothing but pain.

Amarantha was not gentle. She sawed and hacked at his wing with her vicious blade, smiling gleefully as the blood splashed up onto her ivory face. She had always let others do her dirty work before, but I remembered that she had been the one to slowly torture Jurian to the edge of his life for what he had done to her sister.

Rhysand’s screams filled every pore in me, every last follicle, and though I felt my voice cracking in the back of my throat I could not hear my own cries. Tears burned hot streaks down my face and I fought, I fought, I fought to get to him, but I was completely helpless, forced to watch as Amarantha stole from Rhysand what he had alway cherished most.

_The Cauldron the Cauldron the Cauldron_

Where had they taken the Cauldron? I had to tell them _something_ , even if I didn’t know. But if I guessed and I was right, that would lead them right to the rest of my family. I’d already lost Mor and Azriel-- _Mother save me_ \--and I couldn’t fathom losing anyone else.

But _Rhys_.

“Feyre . . .” Rhys gasped before groaning in agony again. “Don’t tell them. It’s--it’s all right, darling.”

I screamed at the words on his lips and thrashed again. _Think think think_. There had to be something!

I could lie. I had to lie. It was my only chance at saving Rhys at all. My first thought was the Heart Tree, the giant ironwood where we’d taken shelter, but that seemed too obvious, and I doubted they would have taken the Cauldron there. If they were smart, they would have chosen some random spot in the jungle impossible to pinpoint. I didn’t want to give up my mother’s hiding place, but I had to say _something_.

“There’s a cave!” I cried. Amarantha paused with her blade mid-cut. Rhys’s wing was half-severed by now, and I swallowed down vomit as I saw the gruesome injury. “It’s on the southern part of the island, where you have been yet. It’s a tidal cave there . . . that’s where they’ve taken it.” I was lying. Every word. I’d seen no such cave and had no way of knowing if anything like it existed. But if it would save Rhys . . . if it could buy us time . . .

“Go, the lot of you,” Hybern said pointing at his few remaining soldiers. “Bring it back to me.” The soldiers took off, but I only caught their motion in my periphery. My eyes were still locked on Rhys.

“Let him go now,” I said. “I gave you what you wanted.”

“No you haven’t,” Hybern said. “I _want_ the Cauldron. Rhysand is ours until I have it.” He nodded at Amarantha, and she cackled before resuming her work.

“ _No!_ ” I shrieked. When Rhys screamed again and his first wing was severed, I could not hold back my vomit anymore. It spewed across the ground and I shook like the last leaf on a tree before winter. “Rhys, Rhys, I’m sorry!”

Amarantha began on his second wing and his screams had become hoarse and weak. His skin had gone terribly pale. Blood. He had lost so much blood.

I had to save him. The blue stone silenced my magic but I had escaped Hybern’s enchantments once before. I could do it again. I had to, for Rhys. I descended deep within myself, searching through the stores of my magic that were locked against me. I could slip through them, couldn’t I? Just as I had before. I needed fire--fire to melt away the chains. I scratched and clawed at the magic within me, trying with every ounce of effort I had to make it obey me, but it remained silent.

Rhys had stopped screaming.

 _Stay with me, Rhys, stay with me!_ I begged through our silent bond. I yanked and pulled on the magic within me, then tried soothing and coaxing it, but _nothing_ . . .

A massive roar shook me in my very bones.

It was not a sound that any Fae could ever make.

I opened my eyes, still shaking, and looked to the sky over my shoulder. An arc of flame was cascading through the black sky, illuminating the battle below. I looked for Lucien, wondered if he was the source of the flame, but . . .

It was something very, very different.

A massive lizard-like creature flew through the sky on tremendous wings of red and gold membrane that put my own wings to shame. Its scales glittered, reflecting the fire streaming from its fearsome jaws. I could feel the heat from the flame even from here, distant as we were. The creature careened through the sky and sent a tongue of flame down onto a cluster of enemies, and suddenly nothing remained of them but ash.

It was not until the beast flew up and over the top of the hill that I realized that this was a firedrake--one of the terrible creatures of legend that none had seen in millennia. A gust of hot wind assaulted our faces and I thought the ends of my hair caught on fire in response. The firedrake soared past us and my mouth dropped open when I saw . . . _people_ , on the firedrake’s back.

The beast turned its head and sent fire straight for us.

I cringed away and closed my eyes, but except for the hot, hot wind I felt no pain. I cracked open an eyelid and found myself surrounded by fire. But it did not burn me. I was in a cocoon of safe air, while walls of fire formed a dome around me. Then, two shadows walked through the flames and approached me.

Elain and Lucien.

I couldn’t even make a sound. I was too shocked. But I did not fight back as Elain raised her Sword of Light and broke the chains that surrounded me. My power surged back through me with such force that I almost vomited again.

Lucien helped me up to my feet. “What--what is happening?” I stammered.

“Nesta and the others found us,” Elain said. “We were with Amren, and . . . well . . . it’s a bit complicated.”

I flinched as another massive roar rang through the night, and suddenly the flames parted and the head of the firedrake emerged from the inferno. My heart raced in terror as the fangs--each as long as my forearm--came near me.

Then, I looked into the firedrake’s eyes.

Silver. A terrifying, familiar silver.

“Amren?” I gasped.

The firedrake growled in what I supposed was a confirmation.

Amren!

“How?” I demanded. “You’re . . . you’re free!”

“She still had the Book of Breathings, and when Nesta found us with the Cauldron . . . she was able to shed her other body,” Elain said breathlessly. “Isn’t she magnificent?”

“Yes,” I murmured, still stunned. “Yes, you are.”

Amren inhaled and the wall of flames around us drew back into her nose, plunging us into near-darkness again. Flames still licked the hillside, separating us all from the battle. I blinked several times, trying to get my bearings, and I realized first that every last one of Hybern’s remaining soldiers had been completely incinerated.

The second thing I noticed was Nesta approaching the King of Hybern with the Spear of Lugh poised in her arms.

I froze and watched in awe and terror as my sister approached the king, the bloodthirsty tip of the Spear angled straight for the king’s heart.

“Don’t be a fool, hellcat,” the king said. He held his hands up as if to placate her, but I knew that he was actually preparing to lash out with his magic. I could almost feel the magic thrumming between his hands, but he stumbled backward into something.

A massive, looming shadow with wings spread wide. I hadn’t realized before just how small Hybern was compared to Cassian.

The king of Hybern let out a startled yelp, but before he could make any defensive move, Cassian swiftly knocked him to his back on the ground. I heard the air whoosh out of the king’s lungs, and his black eyes went wide with terror.

Cassian’s fist connected with his jaw. “That is for my brother,” he spat. Then he punched again. “That is for Mor.” He drew back and allowed Nesta to approached, trembling Spear still in hand. The king went to lurch upright and escape, but Nesta poised the tip of the Spear right over his heart.

The world went still for a moment. I couldn’t even hear the battle raging below, nor the crackling of the flames around us. The world balanced on the tip of Nesta’s Spear, and a wide grin stretched over her lips.

“This is for our family,” she said.

And she slowly pushed the Spear into Hybern’s chest.

The king let out a garbled scream as the Spear ruptured him inside and out. Blood bubbled up out of his lips and he writhed like a worm on the ground for a long moment until, at long last, he went still. Nesta ripped the Spear out of him and instantly bathed it in the Cauldron, which she had conjured beside her. A massive tremor quaked through the entire hill, destablizing me and Elain and Lucien beside me. I managed to stay upright, and though I wanted to stand and celebrate over the destruction of the vile king, I had one thing that was far more important.

Rhys.

I whirled back toward where Amarantha had been moments before, savagely maiming the man I loved. She was gone now, but I had no desire to look for her, not when Rhys was still sprawled there, pale and silent and bleeding.

I bolted to him, whimpering as my knees splashed in the blood that pooled around him. I hadn’t seen how, but somehow, despite the chaos and destruction, Amarantha had managed to finish her task. Rhys’s wings laid severed beside him, leaving horrible, ragged wounds up his back in two places. Shards of ash wood were shoved into the wounds, preventing them from healing.

My beautiful mate.

Tears streamed down my face even as I ripped his chains away and tried to lift his face up in my hands. “Rhys! Rhys, look at me!” I wailed. I could feel a trace of breath against my palms but he did not respond. I sought out the bond between us, but even that was trembling and weak and unresponsive. He was like the lesser faerie that had been dumped in the Spring Court by Amarantha so long ago now. _My wings . . . she took my wings._

I would not let Rhys be like that faerie.

“Lady Feyre!” called a now-familiar voice. Uxía dropped down beside me, having managed to make her way to me at last from whatever had held her back.

“Heal him! Heal him, please!” I begged, my voice frantic and panicked.

“I cannot,” Uxía said, “not with the ash in him.”

“Then get it _out!_ ”

“You know I can’t!” Uxía barked, but she drew in a deep breath. “You need to get him to the Stone!”

“What?” I demanded. My hands were already sticky with his blood and I took note of every tiny breath against my hands. _Stay with me, Rhys._

“The Stone of Danann has healing powers,” Uxía said. “It’s why the King of Hybern wanted it, in addition to claiming his crown. He thought it would rid him of the Mortal Curse.”

“It doesn’t work!” I argued. “I saw it fail for him. It didn’t heal him!”

“Because he was not the High King,” Uxía said.

“Neither is Rhys!” I said. “There has to be something else!”

“Are you sure about that, Cursebreaker?”

My blood ran cold as a voice I had never thought I’d hear again broke through the sweltering night air to my left. I had last heard the voice deep in the Prison, and at the time he had looked like a small boy with dark hair and blue eyes . . . a vision I had not taken time to go back and examine. But now . . .

When I looked up at the Bone Carver I saw myself.

Healed, glowing with power, dressed in finery with a radiant crown upon my head, my lips turned up in an amused smile. In my hands was a bone--the bone Rhys had given him the last time we spoke . . . the one that had killed Amarantha’s Wyrm. It had been carved, in markings and symbols that I had no way of comprehending.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Your mate let his Second release me and my frightening comrades,” said the Bone Carver. It was unnerving, watching my own lips move around his words.

“Get out of our way,” I grunted as Uxía and I lifted Rhys between us. A tiny groan escaped his lips but his head hung over his chest. He was too weak to support himself.

“Don’t you want to know how to cure your mate?”

My heart sputtered. “At what cost?” I spat.

The Bone Carver laughed. “Clever girl. Simply a bargain. This time . . . tell me what you _really_ see on the other side.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Take your mate to the Stone,” the Bone Carver said. “You may be surprised what you find there.”

Rhys’s breath was becoming shallower, and he shook violently. I was running out of options. “Come on,” I grunted, and I jerked my head uphill. Uxía helped me drag Rhys up. He was lighter--so much lighter now, without his Illyrian wings. A sob caught in my throat. I wished I could fuse them back onto his body, but the most important problem was the blood loss. If the Stone could heal him . . . I couldn’t take the chance.

As we passed by the Bone Carver, he said, “Don’t you want to know what I’ve carved into my bone for you?”

He extended the calf bone out to me, and for I moment I was drawn to the whispers that seemed to float from the carvings he had made in them. But Rhys stirred again in my arms and I adjusted my grip on his blood-slicked back, tearing my eyes away from the Bone Carver’s creation. “No thank you.”

The Bone Carver laughed. “You are a special one, Feyre Cursebreaker. Not so many would be able to resist the offer to know their futures.”

I staggered in surprise, but I did not look back. “I don’t need to know my future. I just need to save my mate.”

With a blood-curdling laugh, the Bone Carver vanished into thin air.


	69. Chapter 69

**CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE** **  
**

“Feyre!” I whirled my head around to see Elain bounding up the slope with me. The Bone Carver was gone. Elain saw Rhysand and turned slightly green, but she held her sword before her. “Let me open the wards for you!”

I nodded. “Of course.” I had completely forgotten. I trembled at the thought of what I might have done to us if I had just attempted to charge through.

Elain held the sword over her head and sliced through the air, and the curtain of magic shimmered and rippled as it opened before us. Uxía and I lurched forward, still dragging Rhys. His breaths were becoming fainter with each step, but I would not give up.

I would never give up on him.

“Rhys!” I cried as we made our way across the clearing to the Stone of Danann. “We’re almost there! Please, hold on!”

“Feyre . . .” he breathed.

There was a sharp cry as we came close to the Stone and Uxía leapt back, releasing Rhys and causing us both to tumble to the ground. Rhys did not even cry out. “What was that?” I demanded, glaring up at her.

“I can’t come any closer,” she said. “I don’t have the Sevens’ Blood.”

I swore. Of course. Rhys--I had given him my blood before, and he and I were so closely tied that there was nothing holding him back from the Stone. But Uxía did not have those advantages. I had to get Rhys the rest of the way by myself.

He was too heavy for me to drag myself, so I conjured up just the slightest bit of wind to lift his weight off the ground, and I guided him with my hands closer to the Stone, hunched over him and minding his back.

I had no way to see club that came crashing down onto my shoulder from behind.

I screamed and hit the ground, but I swiftly rolled to that I was on my back to see the attacker. Jurian had raised his club again and was about to bring it down on me, but I thrust my legs out and knocked him to the ground. Uxía tried to get closer, but the barrier around the Stone kept her away. I didn’t have the time to wonder how Jurian had managed to get across.

I wrestled with Jurian until I was straddling him and my taloned hands were pinning his wrists into the ground. “Get away from us!” I spat.

“He will die!” Jurian crowed. “The bastard Illyrian High Lord will _die_ for taking Miryam away from me!”

“He had nothing to do with that!” I growled. Releasing one of his hands, I slashed him across the face with my talons.

Despite the blood blooming in stripes across his face, Jurian laughed. “A wicked little thing you are, granddaughter.”

“I don’t care who you are--we’ll never be family,” I seethed.

“At least your little Morrigan got what she deserved,” Jurian cackled.

The edges of my vision went black with fury. I became intimately aware of the pulse beating under the skin at his throat. “Do not ever speak her name again,” I said, my voice low and deadly.

“Are you going to kill me, little High Lady?” Jurian taunted. “She always said the same thing, you know. But she never did. That Morrigan was always a cowa--”

He couldn’t finish the word. Because I tore my talons into his flesh and ripped the word from his throat.

The light left his eyes and he was dead before I even stood up.

I stumbled back over to Rhys, who was still hovering on my magic mere feet from the Stone. I touched his skin and stopped breathing.

Cold. So cold.

I seized the fabric at his shoulder and pulled him through the air, but my magic released him as though gasping out the moment we got too close to the Stone. As if no other magic was welcome there.

“Rhys!” I cried, trying to tilt his face up where I could see it. It was so quiet, so still between us. “Rhys, please!” I turned him over to his side, trying to mind the wounds on his back, and started dragging him the last distance up the hill. My hand gripped his wrist, trying to find his pulse.

There. A heartbeat.

Several long moments later, another.

Then . . .

“Rhys!” Panic bloomed inside of me and I hauled him over the last threshold so that his shoulder and one arm were spread out on the foundation beneath the Stone. I scrambled up beneath him and propped him in my lap. Tears were already streaming down my face as I gripped his face in both of my hands. “Rhys, please, say something! Breathe! Anything!”

Anguish was the only thing left in my world, but I refused to give up. I hunched over him, holding his face tightly, my tears dripping onto his skin. “Stay with me,” I begged softly. I leaned over and kissed him, praying to the Mother and every other unnamed god in the universe that he would kiss me back.

I felt a feather of breath against my lips.

Then nothing.

His lips were cold, clammy, quiet . . .

Dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 _No_.

I stopped caring about the world. I stopped caring about myself and who I was and the hurts and aches in my own body. Only one thing in the entire universe mattered, and it was the bond that had secured my soul to Rhys’s, unbreakable, able to conquer anything . . . even death.

I plunged deep within my soul, channelling every last scrap of magic and power I possessed--not just the power of the High Lords, but as the Fae Dreamer, the Fae Oath. I could fix this. I could change this.

I would prefer to die if I couldn’t.

I pictured the bridge in my mind, the one Rhys and I had visited in our dreams months ago. Only this time I made it small, small enough to wrap my hands and my power around. I fired my power down the bond to the darkness on the other end and prayed with everything I had that Rhys was still there on the other side. _Come back to me, Rhys. We can make it through this. I promise. Just don’t let go._

I remembered what it had been like to die. I remembered the darkness, the emptiness, the serenity. And the choice. I could have moved on if I’d wanted. If I had chosen that. But Rhys gave me the chance to come back when he had held on to me just like I was holding on to him now. So I held on, and I searched, and I sent my essence down that bond until, at long, long last, I brushed up against him.

And the world erupted into color.

I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing at first, but suddenly a firelit room came into focus, and I saw hands . . . my hands, I realized, holding a paintbrush and decorating my miserable home with little flowers in the wrong colors. If I was still breathing--I wasn’t sure I was anymore--I would have stopped at the sight of it. The dream . . . the dream Rhysand said he’d had about me, long before I’d come to Prythian. The dream that had given him hope.

_Yes, Rhys. That hope. Grab that hope. Grab that dream. My Dream._

Colors melted together and soon green saturated everything. I watched as lush green hills faded into shapeless mounds blanketed with night, and I saw a cluster of dark figures approaching me through the clearing where I stood. I was overwhelmed by a wave of awe and thankfulness and wonder, and then terrible wrath. One of the figures tumbled backward into my arms and I realized it was _me_ , that this was the first time I had met Rhys, from his point of view. From his heart.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” And for the first time I felt deep in my soul what those words had really meant. I’d known, but now I _felt_ it, knew the truth of it more intimately than I’d ever imagined I would.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched the rest of this memory, then the following memory of the day after Summer Solstice, when he had been forced to terrify me and hated himself for it. His decision to let me go, to frighten me away because then, even then, he’d started to hope in love.

Time began to move faster then, and the next thing I saw was a view of the pit that belonged to the Middengard Wyrm. I saw myself, covered in mud and filth far below him, and I watched myself toss the broken bone at Amarantha and splatter her curse.

And I was filled with the warmest surge of emotion and affection. My tears burned my face but I kept holding on, even as the immensity of this moment threatened to wreck me.

This was the moment Rhys had first realized that he loved me.

The sensation burned stronger and longer between us as rapid colors and scenes and images flashed between our minds, and for a while I wasn’t sure if I was seeing my own memories or his, but that burning ardor captured me again when I watched my own neck snap and felt Rhys hold on to me just like I was holding on to him now. And the relief like breaking through the surface of a freezing pond when I had come alive again.

Thousands of moments followed, and I didn’t remember all of them myself. I saw images of myself sleeping, and saw a gentle finger push hair back from my face, that warm affection pulsing like a steady heartbeat now. Moments here and there with the Inner Circle, training, doing nothing remarkable, and suddenly I’d see myself turn around and catch his eye for half a second and that fire would roar to life.

He had quietly loved me for so long.

Starfall. A heart of fire drumming the rhythm of his life, flaring every time he looked at me, every time my skin brushed his. I wished--oh how I _wished_ \--that I had faced my feelings then and had so much more time with him.

I would have more time. I was not going to accept a world in which I did not have more time with Rhysand.

The night I had finally said yes to him . . . on that night, the fire flared into an inferno that encompassed every inch of his body and mine, and I was reminded of how we moved together, how he made me glow. I would glow again for him. I would be the lantern he would use to find his way back to me and I would not. Let. Him. Go.

I gave one last heave of my power, pulling him back, back, until suddenly I was falling and there was no up or down or reality or dreaming . . .

_Why are you here, Dreamer?_

I am here to save my mate.

_My power is not for all._

I know.

_Are you prepared to fail?_

If I fail, I will die with him.

_That is not an answer._

I will not die today.

_Is he worthy of my healing?_

He is worthy of all the good things in the world.

_Are you worthy?_

I cannot judge my own worthiness.

_Perhaps I can do that._

There was a moment of silence and I waited as the Stone--the immense power that was speaking to me now--deliberated over me. I dared not say a word.

_You made an oath to protect your family and you did everything in your power to keep it, even when it became a burden. You accepted the role of Cursebreaker and saved those who would never have done the same for you. You possess the talents of all seven High Lords, and yet you possess less arrogance than one of them. You maintained your goodness and mercy, even in the depths of your despair. You grieved for the innocent lives you took, despite the outcome. Your mortal heart remained strong, despite all those who tried to conquer it._

_You gave yourself to a new family, a new court, and swore yourself to its name. You loved deep and broad and free, and you spread healing in your wake. You sacrificed yourself and your happiness again and again for those you felt more deserving. You ended an injustice in Prythian that is almost older than I am and brought balance back to the magic of the courts. You made allies in every court and brought the seven courts to an alliance that has not been seen since the last High King._

_You have earned the trust and faith of fae of every kind, and your compassion stretches beyond borders most cannot fathom. You resisted temptation, not only to be the dispenser of lots as offered by the white stag, but also to know your own future, for you deem such a power too great for you. You have humility beyond any fae that has ever come to rest at my foundation. Now tell me, Feyre Cursebreaker, does that sound like worthiness to you?_

What am I worthy of?

_An honor that has not been bestowed in this land since the High King Dagda. But it is an honor that you will not bear alone, for your mate . . . he has been judged worthy as well. Many have tried to claim their right to my magic, but none have come to me out of such humility. You came not to claim my power, but so save your mate, at the expense of yourself if needed. So rise, Feyre Cursebreaker, and accept the gift that no one has known in millennia._

The voice went quiet, but suddenly the blackness around me exploded into the brightest light. My bond with Rhysand went taut, and I was suddenly floating up, up, but I was being carried--I did not have to kick or fight. I was being lifted high, as if into the sun, and I held onto the bond for dear life lest I be torn away from him.

Then we crashed through the surface.

I breathed again--a deep, rattling breath that seemed as though I’d been underwater for a very long time. I blinked away the fading light and saw that it was still night, but that the clearing was now lit by glowing runes in every one of the stones. The earth itself seemed to glow, like the floor of the temple had on Calanmai. A song seemed to ring through the air--a song like laughter. My body began working properly again and my arms tensed around the body in my lap.

I gasped and looked down at Rhys’s face, which was no longer pale and drained. Unable to contain myself, I bent and kissed him again. _Let it have worked_ , I prayed. _Please_.

There was stillness for an awful moment. My shoulders sagged and a weary sob rattled in my chest.

Then Rhys’s lips moved against mine.

I jerked away, searching his face, his body, for signs of life. His lips pouted and then, at long last, his violet eyes cracked open. “Is that all?” he asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

I broke into sobs and collapsed over him, kissing him and kissing him until he rose into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around me, tucking me into his shoulder while he laid kisses on my ear and neck. “Feyre, darling,” he breathed.

“Rhys!” I wailed.

“You saved me, Feyre,” he said. “You brought me back.”

I nodded tearfully, clutching at his back, my hands brushing against his . . .

Wings.

I pulled away and looked with tear-filled eyes at the magnificent black wings that now spread from Rhys’s back--unscarred, unmottled . . . absolutely _perfect_.

“Feyre, you look exquisite,” he said.

“Me? Your wings! Rhys, you have your wings back!”

“That and so much more,” Rhys said, gathering me into his embrace again.

The song that filled around the air coaxed us up, and we held hands so tightly it hurt. We looked around the clearing and saw Jurian’s corpse lying limply on the grass not far from us. Then my eyes finally turned to Uxía, and I was amazed to find her on her knees before us, head bowed.

“Uxía?” I asked as we stepped down from the foundation.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured.

“What?” I asked. I looked to Rhysand and for the first time I saw a crown of light upon his head--an intangible wonder lingering there, lighting his face with glory.

“You . . .” Uxía gasped. “You are the High King and High Queen of Prythian.”


	70. Chapter 70

**  
** **CHAPTER SEVENTY** **  
**

“We’re . . . what?”

I looked at Rhys again, at the crown of light upon his head. With my free hand, I reached for it, but my hand passed through it like it was made of smoke.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his mouth twisting up the smile that I thought I had almost lost forever.

“You’re wearing a crown,” I said, “but it’s not . . . actually there.”

Rhys’s hand rose to cup my cheek. “A bit frazzled, darling? Your lack of eloquence is . . .” He trailed off and stared into my eyes, then my lips. “Absolutely enchanting,” he breathed. He leaned in and captured my mouth with his, and the joy that surged through my blood at the kiss that I thought I might never know again was so powerful that it leaked through my very pores.

I heard Uxía cry out and we broke our kiss to look at her--look at each other. For where a moment before we had seemed almost ourselves . . . now we were something else entirely. I lost my breath at Rhysand’s face, the swirling night on his skin and the galaxies in his eyes, the personification of Night and eternity. I raised my hand to touch his cheek, and then I saw that I had become the same--my hand was as fathomless as the night sky and I could see stars beneath my skin. We both glowed as some power deep within us connected us to each other and to the world around us.

I was no longer a small inconsequential thing in the world. I was no mere starving mortal, no wretched and lost High Fae . . . I was not even a young High Lady. I was something else entirely. The world neither seemed too small nor too big for me. I matched it perfectly, and nothing here had the power to overwhelm me . . . not anymore.

“Is it possible?” I murmured, holding Rhys’s hands to my chest.

“Yes,” Rhys replied softly. “I never considered it, but . . . yes.”

“Isn’t this a nice little ending I’ve carved for you?”

The Bone Carver’s voice sent chills racing up my spine. I bared my teeth and felt my fingers curve into talons more fluidly than they ever had before. I whirled to stare down the Bone Carver, but I was momentarily stunned by what I saw.

It was a small, genderless figure that had bone-like skin just like the Suriel. In fact, much besides its small size was similar to the Suriel. Only, this creature was . . . beautiful. Intriguing. All smooth edges and shining faces. It had black eyes with pupils like small pearls floating in dark water. It’s head was shaped like an open fan, and it seemed to have eyes there, too. It was smiling at us.

This . . . it was the Bone Carver’s true form.

“Do you regret refusing my offer? I can still show you the rest,” the Bone Carver said, extending the carved calf-bone out to me. “Though I supposed if you ever really wanted to know something you could talk it over with one of my descendants. How convenient, don’t you think, that a Suriel was always nearby when you needed it most?”

I drew in a short breath. The resemblance to the Suriel was not a coincidence, then.

“Do not give yourself too much credit, Saraquel,” Rhys said, and he stiffened in surprise after he spoke.

The Bone Carver grinned. “No one has spoken my name in millennia,” he said. “Only the High King can know it or speak it without a terrible fate befalling them.” He shifted and the moonlight caused his bony body to glow. “I would not dream of taking credit. It is so very rare that people survive long enough to make my carvings come true. You have come so far . . . though you are not quite at the end.” He tapped his bone as though indicating our progress on our journey.

“What is it you want, now?” I asked.

Saraquel’s pearly eyes twinkled. “I came to hear your tale. What did you see this time?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?” I asked.

Saraquel smiled, though this time there was a sadness to it. “I am old even by my people’s standards,” he said. “My name has been wielded to protect my brothers in battle since before time even existed. I know the secret meanings of dreams and I taught the fae the course of the moon. Among my people I am known as the Shaper of Fates. Yet, for all of this, there is one thing that I have never known, and that is death.” His hands tightened on the calf bone in his hands. “I want to know what lies beyond, in the realm the Mother and the other Makers of the World call their home. You fae . . . you get to see it one day, but none of you ever make it back to tell me what you see!” Saraquel’s voice was almost hysterical, but he drew in a breath and calmed himself. “Except for you. The two of you. Please . . . tell me what you saw.”

My heart clenched with pity, and I looked at Rhysand. He met my eyes, searching for any doubt or hesitation, but he found none. Without a word, we each extended one hand to the Bone Carver Saraquel, and kept our other hands laced together.

I flinched as Saraquel’s cold, smooth grip clutched at my hand, but I kept my eyes locked on Rhysand’s as the ancient creature sifted through our minds, looking for the details of what each of us had experienced in our time beyond this world. I cringed at the intrusion and fought my instinct to shove Saraquel out, but though the creature was clumsy, he caused no harm or pain.

I hoped he would find what he was looking for.

After a long moment of searching, the Saraquel drew out of our minds and dropped our hands. “That . . .” he said breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“Will you go home with the others?” I asked. “If we find a way there?”

“Perhaps,” Saraquel said. “Though I have become quite fond of this place. The fates I can carve. We shall see.”

I nodded. “Let’s go,” I said to Rhys.

We turned and began walking out of the clearing, but Saraquel called out, “Wait!” I looked back, and the creature said, “We are not even.”

“We gave you what you asked for,” I argued.

“No . . . I am indebted to you now.”

My eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”

“The gift you have just given me . . . it far outweighs the meager offers I gave to you. And so I offer you one last gift. A secret that neither of you know but that might save something you treasure.”

“And this is?” Rhys asked, his voice indicating suspicion.

Saraquel spoke quickly. “Before arriving upon this Isle to rescue her High Lady, the Morrigan bestowed a mark upon one she chose--the true significance of which has been forgotten, even to her. She knew it as a mark of protection, of honor. But it is much, much more than that.”

My mind flashed to the chaotic night on the beach, when I had seen Azriel with the unusual mark upon his brow. Mor had never had the chance to explain it to me properly.

“That mark comes from my people . . . from my kin, in fact. My brother befriended the fae . . . a High Fae woman, the first Morrigan, and a warrior who was one of the first Illyrians. It was my brother who gave the Morrigan the mark, the power that was borne through her blood for countless generations. It was my brother who first gave the Illyrians their wings.”

My blood was cold. So, so cold. “What was your brother’s name?” I asked.

Saraquel smiled. “A bold question. My brother’s name was Azrael.”

My knees went weak. “Why are you telling us this?”

“The mark my brother gave the Morrigan was a promise--a pledge of protection over her and her chosen . . . upon whomever she chose to give the mark. An oath, that whoever harmed them would be punished sevenfold for their suffering. But, even more . . . Azrael swore that he would defend them from true death, and that he would protect them even when they seemed to have left this world.”

I couldn’t speak--could hardly breathe. He could not be saying what I thought he was saying.

“Where is your brother now?” Rhys asked, his voice hardly a whisper.

“No one really knows. He was the wiser of us and managed to escape containment in the Prison. Even I am unsure if he made his way back home or if he lingers elsewhere.”

I let out a whoosh of breath. Cruel. This creature was cruel, to give us such hope--

“If you do not know where he is, why tell us this at all?” Rhys demanded. I could hear the anguish in his voice. He had been given hope, too, and he was watching it slip between his fingers.

“Because you can find him!” Saraquel said excitedly. “There is a place in Prythian where the curtains of the worlds are thinner. None has set foot there in millennia, and none have tried. It was once the sanctuary of this Stone before you, until it was deemed wiser to keep it here instead.”

“The sacred mountain?” I breathed.

Saraquel nodded. “It was the seat of the High King long ago, and he had a palace there. A palace with an altar. I do not know what state it is in now . . . perhaps it has restored itself with the crowning of its new monarchs. But, if you go there, with the Sword, the Cauldron, the Spear, and the Stone, you will be able to peel back the curtain. You can send my people home . . . and you may find your friends waiting for you on the other side.”

I swallowed over a hard lump in my throat. I didn’t . . . I couldn’t let myself believe in what Saraquel was saying, for if he was wrong . . . I would have raised my hopes of seeing Mor and Azriel again only to have them dashed, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle such a disappointment. But Saraquel seemed to be in earnest.

Behind us, I heard Amren give a great roar, and it reminded me that there was still a battle raging outside the sanctuary of this ring of stones. “Thank you, Saraquel,” I said, the name falling heavy on my tongue. “If we find a way to send you home again . . . we shall see you at that time.”

Saraquel smiled and spread his arms at his sides. “May your futures be blessed and complete, Your Majesties.”

And then, in a blink, he was gone.

-

Rhys and I locked hands and walked across the clearing. Uxía was waiting for us near the edge of the ring of stones. She bowed to us again, but I said, “It’s all right, Lady Uxía. There is no need for that now.”

“I don’t understand,” Uxía said. “There hasn’t been a High King in millennia . . . and I’m not sure there has ever been a High Queen!”

“I tend to be the first quite often,” I said with a smirk, and Uxía’s face brightened as though relieved . . . as though she had feared being crowned had made me different. Rhys and I had both pulled our glamours one after meeting with Saraquel and we looked far more like ourselves now, but no matter how we tried there was no disguising the power that now leaked from us at every moment.

We stepped outside the ring of stones and Elain was still waiting anxiously on the other side. When she saw us, she instantly fell into a bow as well--as though it was her very nature.

I caught her by the elbow. “Elain,” I murmured.

Her brown eyes were wide. “Feyre . . . what has happened to you?”

“She is the High Queen of Prythian,” Uxía replied, a radiant smile spreading across her lips.

“Feyre,” Elain said, clasping her hands to her chest. “That’s amazing!” She looked at my mate. “Rhysand!” she said. “You’re all right!”

“More than all right,” Rhys said. His arm snaked around my waist.

“What has happened out here?” I asked her.

“Amarantha disappeared,” Elain said, her eyes fearful, “and so did Jurian.”

“Jurian’s taken care of,” I said tightly. Elain nodded, lips trembling. “Where is Nesta?”

Elain hesitated. “She’s been . . . ah, busy. With Hybern.”

I grimaced and allowed Elain to lead us over to where Nesta was standing with her arms crossed, looking over the waning battle below. Cassian was on the ground beside her, one knee propped up, his face buried in the palm of his bloody hand.

A few feet to their left was Hybern.

Or what used to be Hybern.

It seemed that after I had turned away from his corpse to go after Rhys, Nesta had continued getting her revenge on him. His body was almost hacked apart: he was sliced open up and down each arm and leg; there was a gaping hole in his chest left from the spear; his throat was slit; and, to my horror, she had disemboweled him. Flies were already beginning to flit about his corpse.

It was hard to believe that this mangled body had been our greatest enemy.

“Nesta,” I murmured.

My sister whirled around, her eyes flashing, but her face crumbled when she saw me. “Feyre!” she gasped. Cauldron, she looked awful--stained red everywhere, covered in mud and sweat, but mostly blood. Hybern’s blood. But I did not flinch when she threw her arms around me. She did not bow--of course she didn’t.

Cassian turned to look over his shoulder, and my heart clenched when I saw the brokenness in his eyes. But then they fixed on Rhys beside me and he shot to his feet, staggering for a moment with the weariness of loss and battle. “Rhys!” he rasped.

Rhys strode over to his brother and clapped him on the shoulder. But Cassian drew him into an embrace, and I saw his massive body tremble and struggle to contain the tears. A broken sob escaped his lips and he clutched Rhys to him. I looked away and let them mourn their brother in peace.

“What is happening below?” I asked Nesta.

“The humans retreated,” Nesta said. “What remained of them, anyway. Everyone else is still fighting. Hybern’s men don’t know their king is dead yet.”

“They will soon.” I took Nesta by the arm and caught Rhys’s eye. He squeezed Cassian’s shoulder and beckoned his commander to stand on the hillside near us. We could see almost the entire battle from here. It was time to see just how much power our new rank afforded us.

“Get their attention for us, will you, Nesta?” I asked.

Nesta grinned darkly and thrust her fist into the air, sending a deep thundering through the sky. Behind us, Amren let out a horrible roar and an arc of fire that drew everyone’s eyes to where we stood.

“This battle is over,” I declared. “Angus of Hybern is dead. Jurian is dead. There is no more war to be fought.”

“Bow before your High King and High Queen,” Rhys commanded.

The clattering sounds of battle slowly came to an end as our words echoed with untold magic off of every tree trunk and clod of earth. Then, slowly but surely, everyone on the battlefield began to drop to their knees.

The war was won.


	71. Chapter 71

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE**

With no one to lead them and nothing to fight for, what remained of Hybern’s forces scattered. Some surrendered, but others fled deep into the jungle--likely to be picked off by Drakon’s forces and wild faeries by morning. The Fomorians drew back and lingered at the edges of the battlefield, looking over the ground stained with blood and mourning their fallen brethren, just as the forces of Prythian did the same.

Out of the chaos, familiar faces emerged, trudging up the hill toward us. Lucien instantly wrapped Elain in his arms and touched his muddied forehead to hers. She kissed his nose and held him tightly. Masaru lingered nearby with two of his Frost Warriors, looking exhausted but relieved. Tarquin winnowed in with Aracely--he had clearly been fighting, judging by the dents in his armor, but Aracely had been kept in safety. Both of them bowed to us, and the rest of the Dawn Court, which had come running to find their High Lady, paused and bowed as well.

I wanted to tell them to stop, but Rhys squeezed my hand. In a few moments they all rose, and we looked over the aftermath as one.

“Where do we stand?” Tarquin asked. “Your Majesties,” he added, his brow crinkling in uncertainty.

“All of that still needs to be sorted,” Rhys said, “but Hybern and Jurian are dead. Their forces are in disarray. The war is over.” A collective sigh of relief rose out of everyone.

“Where are Miryam and Drakon?” Elain asked.

Rhys and I both tensed, but a voice rose from nearby. “We are here.”

I whirled with Rhys and his wings flared. Our glamours slipped just slightly and I saw Drakon stop his limping stride toward us and cringe away. Miryam beside him did the same, her brown eyes wide.

“I had thought you would run back to your palace and hide from the destruction,” Rhys said scornfully. “That’s what a coward would do.”

Drakon bared his teeth. “I am not a coward. I am a king, and I did what was needed to protect my kingdom.”

“No. You turned over a former friend to a known liar,” Rhys said, his voice harsh. I saw the pain in his eyes and I held his hand tightly. “Drakon . . . Morrigan is dead because of you.”

Miryam let out a broken cry. “Mor?” she asked.

“Yes, Mor!” Rhys snapped. “She gave you this place. Fought by your side--led you here. And she kept your secret for centuries, as did I, because we believed in your friendship, and believed that you would have done the same for us. And yet you turn us both over to Hybern to die as thanks.”

Drakon’s eyes sparked. “We did not turn over Morrigan!”

Rhys let out a harsh laugh, and I almost shivered at the coldness in him that only ever came out when he was broken like this. I reached down our bond and laid a warm hand over it--a touch of comfort. All I could offer. Rhys went on, “Did you think she wouldn’t defend her only family? Wouldn’t try to get me back? For someone who always preached about the bonds of brotherhood, Drakon . . . you really are a hypocrite.”

“Feyre,” Miryam breathed, meeting my eyes with a desperate look. “You know we wouldn’t--”

“I don’t know a thing about you,” I said, my voice hard.

“We’re family! I was trying to protect you!”

“Don’t tell me that,” I said. I stepped away from Rhys and extended my hands to my sisters. Nesta’s blood-slick hand slid into my left hand and Elain clutched my right. “This is a family,” I said. “They have fought by my side. And we’re not perfect, or pretty, but we’ve been through hell and back together. We would never dream of doing what you’ve done. So never use that word to describe your relationship to me again.”

A mournful silence hung in the air for a moment. I released my sisters and returned to Rhys’s side.

“What will you do to us, then?” Miryam asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You are the High King and High Queen now,” she said. “We are your subjects. What will you do with us?”

I looked at Rhys and I could see that he was sorting through the options himself. Not all, I could tell from the shadows in his eyes, were pleasant outcomes. At last, he said, “Stay here and rot for all I care.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised, and Miryam actually gasped. “What?”

“I would be the most vile kind of hypocrite if I began my reign by punishing actions no worse than ones I took myself while enslaved to Amarantha,” Rhys said. I felt the torment through the bond--his utter desire to crush Drakon for his betrayal, but the dark understanding there, too. “You are not friends of Prythian, and you shall never be welcome there. Live out your existence here alone as long as you please. But do not dare to ever seek our friendship or help again.”

Drakon’s face was pale, as though he was deeply troubled by the mercy. Rhys met his eyes for half a moment and then tore away to look at Miryam instead. “You are my mate’s grandmother. For that alone I extend you mercy. But I leave it solely to her discretion if she chooses to acknowledge that relationship or not.”

I locked a frozen stare on Miryam. “I do not,” I said.

“Feyre!”

I turned and saw my mother hiking up the hillside, supporting my father in the trek as well. Miryam shrieked. “Daniela!”

My mother cringed. “Mother,” she said. “Drakon.”

“I thought you were _dead!_ ” Miryam wailed, rushing toward her daughter.

“You can go over all of that later,” I said. I didn’t have the stomach to listen to any sad stories right now. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to sort through things.” I turned to head back to the gathering of High Lords.

“You’re just going to leave us here?” my mother asked, sounding appalled.

“I don’t care where you go,” I said. My words were harsh but it came from weariness more than spite. “Miryam and Drakon are not permitted in Prythian. You are their subject. Ask them where you should go.” This time I did turn all the way around. I was trembling with exhaustion and emotion, and Rhys ran a hand down my back. “Let’s go home,” I murmured.

“Any ideas on how to take the Stone with us?” Rhys asked.

“I’m sorry?” Drakon demanded from behind us. “Take the Stone?”

“Yes,” Rhys said simply. “It is our duty to protect it, and we no longer feel it is safe here.”

“It’s been here for millennia!”

“And your point is?” Rhys said coldly. Drakon’s nostrils flared. “We will take it to its rightful place atop the sacred mountain. There we will guard and protect it, as is our duty.”

“You--”

“Drakon,” Miryam said, her eyes cast downward. “Let it go.”

Drakon set his jaw and stared at us with fury. Then, still limping, he whirled around and trudged down the hill, Miryam running after him.

I wished I had enough energy to regret seeing them go. To regret the lost family they’d represented.

“How are we all getting back?” Tarquin asked. “Most of my ships are still intact, but--”

“Never mind that,” Rhys said, raising a hand. “We can handle it.”

“We can?” I asked, looking up at him.

Rhys smiled and nodded. “You’ll find, love, that the skills we already possessed are augmented now . . . significantly.”

I wondered if perhaps I was too tired to recognize much of the difference in myself and my abilities, but I trusted Rhys, and he gestured for everyone to follow him up into the ring of stones, which was no longer warded. He tugged on my hand and we walked up to the Stone, and as we approached I felt a warm, affectionate hum of magic in my bones. Rhys laid his hand upon the surface of the Stone, and I followed suit. “Think of winnowing,” he said, and I began to gather my power. He murmured into the Stone, “Take us to your birthplace.”

Then there was a flash of radiant light and and the world turned white.

-

I smelled the cool mountain air before I saw anything, and I had never been so relieved. The sweltering heat of the Fortunate Isle had installed a malaise in me that I hadn’t thought to attribute to the heat, but now that the crisp air of the mountain caressed my cheek and filled my lungs, I knew that I had never felt at home there.

The next sense to return was sound, and I hear disturbed murmurs coming from all around me. Voices of friends and family wondering how on earth they had ended up here. Where was _here_ anyway?

Then I blinked away the last of the bright light and saw the tall, glittering palace before me.

I had not known what to expect when Saraquel had mentioned a palace atop the mountain, but I had not imagined something like this. It was made of towering crystal that looked like ice, and elegant spires reached heavenward like a crown. We were surrounded by a thin layer of white clouds obscuring the world below, though occasional breaks in the cover revealed more smaller mountains and the forest below. But the sunlight from above glistening off the crystal palace before us, drawing my attention back to its grandeur.

“I didn’t know this was here,” I breathed.

“Neither did I,” Rhys confessed. “Perhaps it didn’t . . . not until the Stone found someone worthy of crowning.”

“Let’s not even talk about that,” I sighed. My head still hurt at all the implications. Still, I supposed that the palace must belong to us now, so I turned to everyone and said, “Please, let us all get comfortable and bathed and rested inside. Once we have all recovered from battle . . . then we can discuss recent events.”

There was a murmuring of agreement, and after Rhys and I began to climb up the marble stairs, the rest of the crowd trudged up behind us.

Rhys and I allowed our instinct to tell us where to go, and they led us straight to the heart of the palace, which appeared to be a throne room. Two thrones were erected upon a high dais, and they overlooked a round hall. In the middle of this hall sat the Stone of Danann, without the additional stones that had been surrounding it on the island. The runes carved into it still glowed, but the magic was contented, peaceful.

Rhys and I walked through the enormous, quiet corridors by ourselves, marveling at the exquisite beauty carved into every wall and corner. The roofs were made of crystals and I could detect no light fixtures. It seemed the palace was lit by the sun in the day and by some unseen magic at night.

“It’s so beautiful,” I said as we walked.

“It is,” Rhys agreed, his stroll matching mine. Our bodies were inclined in the same direction, and we were sure that the magic here was leading us right to our own rooms. We arrived at a huge set of ivory doors carved with images that my eyes were too tired to decipher. The doors swung open without bidding to reveal a suit of rooms that was finer than anything I had ever laid eyes on. Everything was white, crystal, ivory, or shades thereof. A wide-open balcony like the ones in the House of Wind looked out over the mountain range and forest and Prythian below.

Rhys and I, clothed in night and blood, were a stark contrast to the beauty.

We found a bathroom with sprays of mist coming from the walls in addition to a pool, and Rhys and I climbed in, too tired to bother with any flirting whatsoever. I stood in the bath washing myself in a spraying stream, but after I ran my hands over my face, dragging away dirt and blood, my hands fell limply to my sides and I hung my head as the emotions of the past days hit me all at once.

Rhys was behind me in an instant, banding his arms around my chest and tucking me close to his body. “I know, darling. I know.” I tried to swallow my cries, but I failed, and an ugly choking sob escaped my mouth. I was shaking, badly, and I hadn’t noticed when I’d started. “You can cry. It’s all right.” And I knew that the hot moisture I felt against my temple when he leaned his face toward mine was not from the bath water.

“This place,” I said through my cries. “It makes it seem as though it’s all perfect now. Like I didn’t just lose you. Like we didn’t just lose--” I choked and could not pronounce my friends’ names. I felt just the way I had when I’d been brought back as High Fae and the blood of the innocent faeries I had slaughtered had been wiped away from me as though it had never happened. “I miss Velaris.” Tears streaked down my face as I let myself feel the homesickness I had been staving off for weeks and weeks now.

Rhys ran a soothing hand in circles over the plain of my stomach. “I know,” he said, and I could hear the pain in his hoarse whisper. “We’ll go back soon. Let’s just . . . finish this. And then we can go home.”

I trembled in his arms and let the hot water pour on my head and soothe the heartache into numbness. “Do you promise?” I asked in a whisper that was barely audible over the running water.

Rhys was quiet for a moment as he continued running soothing strokes over my body. Then his hands paused and he pressed a single, soft kiss to my cheek.

“I promise.”


	72. Chapter 72

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO** **  
**

I sat upright in the middle of the bed, knees curled up to my chest. I stared at nothing, my chin rested in the little valley made by my knees.

“You should try and rest, Feyre,” Rhys said, running his hand upon and down my back. He sat beside me and all I could do with any amount of success was sit with my eyes closed and breathe in his scent and memorize his touch.

“I don’t think I can,” I whispered. “Not until it’s done. It’s not done.” No one had seen Amarantha since Amren had arrived on the hill and Hybern was killed. I would not feel safe until I saw her corpse with my own eyes and burned the pieces myself.

“We’ll get nowhere without rest,” Rhys said, but I saw that he was making no effort to relax, either.

I didn’t blame him. I remembered how I had felt when I had come back from the dead.

Emotion choked me. “Just hold me,” I said.

“Of course.” Rhys gathered me into his lap and I curled up tight against his strong body, clinging to it as tightly as I could. This--I had almost lost this.

“I know now,” I said, running my fingers up and down his chest.

“Hmm?” Rhys asked.

“What it was like to watch me die.”

Rhys went stiff. “And I know what it was like to die.” He relaxed again and ran his fingers through my hair.

There were so many things to say, words I wished I could speak, but I did not have the strength. And I couldn’t relive that heartache so soon, not even in this beautiful palace in the arms of the man I’d come so close to losing.

Rhys sensed all this in me and said, “We don’t have to talk about it now, Feyre,” he said. “I . . . I’m not sure I’m ready either.” His voice was tight and I tilted my head up to look at him. My nose bumped his as he looked down at me, too, and I wanted to drown in the violet night of them. I reached up and kissed him softly, and he closed his eyes and kissed me back. The longer the kiss drew on, the more insistent he became, and his strong arms formed a secure cage around me. Soon, I wasn’t on his lap anymore, but on my back in the midst of the cloudlike pillows and blankets. His hand weaved through my hair just past my temple as he cradled my cheek and kissed me deeply. His tongue searched my mouth and I was lost in the taste and scent of him. His other hand laced his fingers with mine and his body covered me, assuring me in the silent way that he was here, that I hadn’t lost him . . .

His wings formed a canopy over us and blocked out the bright light of the room, and soon we were cocooned in the midst of them, forming our own kind of quiet night in the middle of the day. And, at long last, we both fell asleep.

-

We did not awake again until the next morning. My head ached when I woke up, but Rhys kissed my temples and drew away the ache through the sliver in my mental shields. I clung to his hard body for several long minutes after waking.

“Feyre, darling,” he murmured. “We have to get up.” I only muttered something unintelligible into his chest. He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “I knew you were meant for the Night Court, but I didn’t know you were so bad at mornings.”

“It shouldn’t surprise you,” I said, tilting my head up.

He flicked my nose. “It doesn’t. But, I might remind you . . . you’re a queen now.”

I blinked several times as the words sank in. “Oh.”

“You don’t seem particularly enthused.”

I bite my lower lip as I consider my words. “It’s not that. Only . . . it just seemed _additional._ Almost a side-effect of getting you back. And I care far more about that than being High Queen, or whatever I am now.”

“Do you feel different?” Rhys asked, lifting one eyebrow.

“Do you?”

He chuckled. “Yes. I feel . . . like I fit the world better. Or it fits me. I’m not sure which. And my power feels less like a burden. Like I can handle it without as much constant effort. There’s no less of it. There might even be more. But . . . I feel lighter.”

“It’s about the same for me,” I said. I finally force myself to sit up and slide off the massive bed. “If this is where we have to stay, we’ll need to redecorate,” I said, looking around. “All the white gives me a headache.”

Rhys rose and came to stand beside me. “I wholeheartedly agree with you.”

My shoulders slumped suddenly. “We have to meet with everyone, don’t we?”

“I’d prefer sooner rather than later.”

“Agreed,” I said with a nod and a grimace. “How do we get everyone’s attention? Daemati magic?”

Rhys cocked his head. “Somehow I think they’ll be there when we want them to.”

“That sounds odd,” I said, and he shrugged, “but I feel the same way.” I look around and head for the armoire. I couldn’t very well go down in my negligées.

“Your Majesties.”

I gasped and whirled around, and my mouth dropped open when I saw an ethereal figure standing between the armoire and the door. I could see straight through it to the wall. “Who are you?” I demanded.

The creature smiled blithely. “I am simply a bit of magic designed to serve the High King . . . and High Queen. I inhabit the walls and the air, and it is my duty to make your every desire occur. I have already made the other visitors aware of your desire to meet them shortly. If it is your desire, I shall prepare you to meet them.”

I looked eyes with Rhys, and he shrugged one shoulder. “Very well,” I said.

There was a flash of light and I let out a tiny yelp. My nightclothes were gone, and in the blink of an eye I was clothed in a massive gown of golden pleated fabric. The skirt cascaded around me like an upside-down flower. Golden thread was woven in intricate patterns across the skirt, and it caught the morning sunlight and glimmered when I moved. A transparent shawl draped around my shoulders and covered my arms, where were unhindered by sleeves. My hair was wrapped in a braided crown upon my head and golden earrings dripped from my earlobes.

It was nothing like I had ever worn before.

I turned to look at Rhys and almost fell over.

He was wearing . . . white.

On second glance I realized it was more like ivory, but his tunic had broad shoulders with darted sleeves, and the ensembled was embroidered with gold just like mine was. A large chain of gold rosettes crossed his impressive chest, and a stiff collar drew just the right amount of attention to his powerful neck. Upon his head was that crown of golden light I’d seen when we’d been upon the hill.

He noticed me staring, and I was sure I saw him blush. “What?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I’m your _mate_ ,” I said, “and I’ve never seen you wear anything but dark colors.” Mostly black, actually. If I thought hard enough I might be able to think of an occasion where he’d worn dark gray or navy . . . maybe even violet. But never, _never_ ivory. Rhys opened his mouth, but I said, “I like it.”

He dipped his head and grinned. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered. “It’s far too Day Court for my taste.” His eyes fixed on me and drank me in. “You, on the other hand,” he said, stepping close and offering me his arm, “can wear _that_ any day you please.”

“Oh?” I asked as his breath danced over my cheeks.

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact . . .” He leaned close and said into my ear, “I’d very much like to climb under all of those skirts and find your luscious legs. You can keep me under there if you like. No one would ever know . . . as long as you managed to remain quiet.” His tongue flicked out and touched the crest of my ear.

“ _Rhys_ ,” I said, knowing he could tell that my knees had gone weak. He chuckled and his hot breath made me tremble. I smacked his chest with the back of my hand. “Nice to know you didn’t leave your ability to flirt in the afterlife.”

Rhys smiled and it was almost blinding in its beauty. He laid his hand over where mine was tucked into the crook of his arm, and together we left our quarters and began to walk down toward the throne room we had found the day before. I was thankful that the dress was neither too heavy nor too difficult to walk in. Rhys and I entered the room near where the thrones were erected, and when we entered the room, everyone else who had gathered around the Stone of Danann bowed. The Stone glowed and hummed as contentedly as it had the last we’d seen it.

Rhys and I walked across the dais to the thrones, and we only paused a moment to assess who was there before telling everyone to rise.

I was surprised that there were more faces than I had anticipated in the assembly. The white, slender Fomorian who had arrived to negotiation with Drakon was present, though they camouflaged so well with the white walls and floors that they were almost invisible. My eyes also fell on a group of redheaded figures. One was Lucien and Elain, both of whom glowed with their new power. But to Lucien’s left were two others--the Lady of the Autumn Court, and one of his brothers. I didn’t dare ask what had happened to the others.

Tarquin and Aracely stood on the other side of the Stone, arm in arm, but Lord Helion also stood on Aracely’s other side--looking sideways at Lord Tarquin. Aracely raised her eyebrow and Helion looked away, mouth tight. Just behind Tarquin was Varian, but Cresseida was thankfully absent. The Dawn Court stood nearby, and Iria waved her fingers at Aracely with a lovely smile before turning back to her parents and sisters.

Nearby Lucien was Prince Masaru, but two other figures had joined him--along with a soft brown tabby cat, the only animal in the room. The cat lounged in one of the men’s arms, and Elain scratched it behind the ear. The other figures were certainly Masaru’s uncles, and I knew Kallias by the ice crown upon his head. The other man looked around the room in unabashed delight and muttered something to Kallias about needing to take design hints for home. Rhys saw them and stiffened slightly, and I saw his eyes instantly pass over to look somewhere else--landing on Nesta and Cassian, who offered him a tired but reassuring grin.

“Thank you all for coming down,” Rhys said. “I am sure we are all eager to learn what how the Stone’s magic has affected Prythian and the rest of us. We have not been in this position in millennia. Queen Feyre and I are looking forward to working with you to come to an arrangement that is beneficial to all of us?”

“Working _with_ us?”

My blood chilled as I looked over to where Lord Kallias stood, a skeptical expression on his face.

Rhys swallowed, but his face betrayed no emotion. “Yes. With you.”

“You expect us to believe you have no intention of simply ruling over all of us like Amarantha did?” Kallias asked, his jaw tight. I saw Masaru raise his hand, but the other man with Lord Kallias cast him a warning look. “What makes you different than her?”

I saw Rhys’s jaw go tight and fury flare in his jaw, but I held his hand tight and he breathed. “For one thing,” he said tightly, “Amarantha just dismembered and murdered me, and it is only thanks to the Stone of Danann that I stand here now. I have no desire to emulate her.”

“Is that so?” Kallias said coldly. “That is not how I remember things.”

I could feel the panic rising in Rhys from our bond, though his demeanor remained placid. _It’s all right_ , I told him. _You can get through this_.

 _Thank you_ , came his choked response. His hand was a vice around mine.

“I was a slave to Amarantha Under the Mountain,” Rhys said slowly, evenly. “I made horrible decisions to protect my court. Amarantha compelled me to do many things, and some I did willingly. I perceived them as necessary for my survival and the survival of my court.

“However, I want you to know, Kallias, that I was an _unwilling_ tool in Amarantha’s retribution toward your court. I did what I could to dissuade her and to avoid participating. In the end I was given no choice. Despite my efforts to relieve their pain, I loathe myself for my role in that dark and terrible day. I do not expect you to forgive me for my actions, nor do I expect you to pay me any undue deference because of magic I did not ask for. But I do wish you to know that I will work every day for the rest of eternity to make up for the evil I performed in Amarantha’s name.”

Kallias locked his silver eyes with Rhys’s violet ones, and the men stood and stared each other down. I held my breath and waited for one of them to break eye contact.

Suddenly, a soft _mew_ rang through the hall, and the tabby cat squirmed out of the other winter lord’s arms. Both Rhys and Kallias looked at the cat in surprise as it padded across the floor and up the steps of the dais. It paused and looked with clear green eyes at Rhys, and then it wandered over and twined itself against Rhys’s golden boot.

The other winter lord gasped and locked eyes with his husband. “Well, then,” he said.

Kallias flexed his jaw, but then his face relaxed. “Well then indeed,” he mused. He turned back to Rhys and nodded once. I saw the flicker of bemusement in Rhys’s eyes, but he nodded as well.

I let out a tiny sigh of relief, though I had no idea what exactly had just happened. I smiled and looked at Elain, and my sister gave me a smile that told me she understood and that this was a very good thing.

“The King of Hybern is dead?” Lord Helion asked, guiding us to the next topic of conversation. “The Cauldron is no longer in his possession?”

“The King of Hybern is more than just dead,” Nesta said, her voice like knives. She inspected her fingernails as though she could still see his blood beneath them. “He is worm meat.”

“What happened to his power, then?” Helion asked. “Did it pass to you?” He nodded at Rhys and me.

“No.”

I went as still as stone as the piercing voice echoed in the hall. Then a thundering crack split the air and a cloud of smoke curled in the midst of the pillars of white. There, where the black whisps cleared, stood a lean figure of red, a drop of blood on the snow. And she was looking at everyone in the room like she would very much like to eat the flesh off of our bones.

Amarantha.


	73. Chapter 73

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE**

A violent ripple surged across the room as everyone noticed Amarantha standing there. Lucien swept Elain behind him and Tarquin did the same to Aracely. The princesses of the Dawn Court drew their weapons along with the High Lord and High Lady. Though most of us had just left the battlefield, everyone was ready to fight one more time to finally see the end of the woman who had enslaved them for so long.

“Did you think you’d be rid of me so easily?” she demanded, her shrill voice echoing through the hall.

“Not in the least,” I called back. “We’ve been looking forward to the opportunity to crush you. Thank you for not keeping us waiting.” My hands curved into talons at my side--gold, not black this time. I felt magic, old and new, sparking in my blood, and my vision became sharper as I focused on my greatest enemy standing across from me.

“Do you really believe it wise to taunt me?” Amarantha asked. “Everyone here knows what I can do.”

“I think it shows poor judgment on your end to remind everyone of your crimes,” Rhys said. “We are not the only ones here who would very much like to see your head on a stake.”

Amarantha bared her teeth and leaned forward in a crouch. “You first.” She thrust her hand out in front of her and a beam of horrifying, flickering lightning bolted across the room toward us. My body remembered being struck by it before. I saw many of our friends leap in and attempt to intercept it, but none could. It came right across to Rhys and me, and we prepared to shield ourselves from the attack. We threw up a shield made of our blended power--

\--but the lightning fizzled before it even touched our shield. Rhys and I gripped hands tightly but dared not tear our gazes away from Amarantha. I saw the flicker of surprise across her face. In the moment she hesitated, a storm of icicles pelted through the air toward her, generated by the Winter Court. Amarantha cast them aside without looking away from us, but a moment later she had to defend herself from a jet of water pulsing from between Tarquin’s hands. The water was swept up in a swirl of wind that charged toward Amarantha, and the sight was such a surprise that I turned to see Aracely manipulating Tarquin’s water on the wind.

Amarantha had to dart out of the way to avoid the whirling water, but as she moved she sent another strike toward us. Just like the first, it fizzled before it could do us any harm. This time, Rhys and I dared a glance at each other, and we reached the same conclusion.

Amarantha could not harm us.

We smiled.

In the face of our greatest enemy, we smiled, and then, with hands linked, we walked closer. The attacks against Amarantha became more frantic as Lucien and the Dawn Court and Cassian and Nesta leapt into the fray. Amarantha could barely manage all of their attacks at once. Chaos reigned in the hall, but the world around Rhys and me was placid as a cocoon of magic protected us from all harm. I did not try to rationalize it--the only thing that made sense was that the presence of the Stone and our new rank as High King and High Queen protected us from the injury Amarantha intended for us.

Step by step, slow and calm, we approached Amarantha. Her black eyes became wider and her snarl fiercer with every step, but every attack she launched at us in between volleying the attacks from the other courts glanced away from us harmlessly. Outrage lit her features and she looked crazed in a way that I had only seen once--on the day she had killed me. Rhys and I passed by the stone, our steps matched and our hands linked, smiles still on our faces. When we touched the steps leading up a few more paces to Amarantha, we held up our hands, palms facing her.

The new magic within each of us pulsed out at her and she was propelled out of the open doors and down the massive steps that led to the edge of the mountain upon which this palace was perched.

Amarantha had enslaved everyone here in one way or another, and she had built her vile kingdom in the heart of this very mountain. Now, upon its peak, she would be ended, and the desecration she had spread would be cleansed.

Amarantha crumpled on the ground, an animalistic snarl breaking of her lips. I stood calmly beside Rhys on the top of the stairs, looking down at her with loathing and triumph. “Submit,” I said plainly.

“I will _never_ submit,” Amarantha scoffed. She spat blood onto the grey rock face. “I refuse to bow before mortal scum and my own whore.”

I opened my mouth to silence her, but there was no need, for a massive roar sliced open the sky, and suddenly Amren swept in from between the frothy clouds. She was not red and gold now as she had been on the battlefield. Instead, her scales were iridescent silver like her eyes, allowing her to blend into the atmosphere. With another roar, Amren landed in the space between where Amarantha was crumpled and the stairs upon which we stood. Amarantha screamed and sent bolts of lightning toward Amren, but they just glanced off of Amren’s armor-like scales.

_Please let me burn her. Just a little._

I jumped when I heard Amren’s voice in my mind, just as I had always remembered it. I glanced at Rhys and realized that Rhys hadn’t heard her. She was speaking only to me.

 _Don’t kill her_ , I said. _Rhys--_

 _I know_ , Amren said. _The final blow belongs to him. I would never dream of taking that honor. But . . . I could make her suffer a bit, first._

_Help yourself._

Amren let out a triumphant bark before reeling back her let and letting out a stream of white fire that engulfed Amarantha. The wicked queen screamed, but I could not see her past Amren or through the white fire. The blast of fire went on for half a minute before Amren quenched it, curling her body and crouching so that we could see Amarantha over the spine of her back--which made a clear path for us down to Amarantha’s level.

I accepted the silent invitation from Amren and walked hand-in-hand with Rhys down Amren’s spine, descending down her extended wing to stand before where Amarantha was curled up, the ends of her hair still smoking. Her ivory skin was blistered and her gown was in tatters, and tears of agony streamed down her face. She was healing, though, and would be in fighting condition again soon.

Above us, the sun had almost reached its peak in the sky.

It was time.

“It’s over, Amarantha,” I said. “We forging a new world, and you are not welcome in it.”

Amarantha gasped for breath, but she looked up at me. Her tears had left actual burn scars down her face, as though she’d cried acid. The hate in her eyes was almost enough to take my breath away. “How dare you speak to me like that, you little--”

She lunged.

Her fingernails had only brushed the surface of my wrist went she went utterly still. Like a statue. Against her will, her face went slack and turned to Rhys, who had seized her mind without the barest hint of effort. “Do not dare touch my queen,” he said, and I actually trembled at the murder in his low, cool voice.

My mate. My king. My equal in every way. We had both crossed the boundaries of this world to save each other from death, and nothing held enough power over us now to conquer the bond we had forged between us. Nothing could challenge us and survive. We had become . . . infinite.

Amarantha choked just as the sun reached its peak in the sky. Then she screamed.

Before my eyes, her injuries stopped healing. The ivory beauty leached from her face and the radiant red of her hair faded to a dull cherry. The youth that had always been hers seemed to be fading, and faint marks like wrinkles and frown lines carved paths onto her face. Crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of her eyes.

More than anything, I felt the power leaving her.

 _Rhys, what are you doing?_ I asked. I did not know he had this kind of magic.

 _I am not doing this_ , he replied. In surprise, he let Amarantha’s body crumple onto the ground again. Her gown suddenly seemed out-of-place on her, even soiled as it was. Her coloring was all wrong--it was like the artist behind the universe had for some reason decided to paint her in watercolor when everything else was in vibrant oil paints.

I couldn’t make sense of it until I smelled it, and my stomach dropped to my feet.

Amarantha was _human_.

Yes--I could see through her curtain of hair that her pointed ears had dulled to round edges, and her body was suddenly pitiful and frail compared to the fae. “Rhys, what day is it?” I asked, looking at him.

Rhys hesitated, confused by the question, but he took one glance at the sky and said, “It’s the Summer Solstice.”

“The Mortal Curse,” I breathed, turning my gaze back to Amarantha. “When Hybern died, she inherited his power . . . but she also inherited the Curse.”

“What?” Amarantha shrieked, and her voice was thinner, with far less magnitude. Had I seemed so pathetic to her when our positions had been reversed? I realized that I likely had.

“You’re human, Amarantha,” I said, and I could not stop the delight from bubbling up within me at the realization that she had become the one thing in the world she detested beyond anything else.

“Impossible!” she cried, and she held out her hand to summon up some kind of magic.

Nothing happened.

She gasped and looked at her hands, then frantically touched her ears. She screamed and her face turned beet red. “No! Cauldron, no! Mother, no!”

“Do not call upon them, for I promise they will be unlikely to help someone like you,” I said.

“I’m a human!” Amarantha railed wildly, grasping desperately at her clothes, her skin. She slashed open her own arm and burst into horrified sobs when she saw that her skin did not instantly knit back together. “This is worse than any death!”

Rhys stiffened, and his eyes went narrow. “I promise, Amarantha. I can make your death far, _far_ worse.”

And for a delightful moment, Amarantha cringed away.

Cringed away like a worm.

Rhys seized her with his magic, and I watched her dull black eyes grow wide with horror. She clutched at her own throat, where she struggled to breathe. Rhys hung her in the air and she kicked against nothing, but her feet went limp as Rhys dissolved the bones in her feet. Her scream rent the air, but Rhys would show her no mercy. I watched him dislocate her hips, listened as her screams became garbled as he turned her organs to mud inside of her. Blood sprayed from her mouth toward us, but I cast away the droplets with a flick of my wrist so that it did not touch us.

When she was choking and her arms had gone limp from dissolved bone and severed tissue, Rhys began to mist her.

He started with her feet and her fingers, and I watched with a cold expression as Amarantha was slowly torn into pieces no one could ever recover. She was mist, became one with the clouds, and Rhys kept her mind aware through the whole process. I felt sick watching it, but it was no less than she deserved for all she had done to Prythian, to my family . . . to us.

At long last, when her limbs were gone, Rhys locked eyes with her and blinked. The light in her black eyes winked out and her head fell onto her chest--he had melted her mind, just as she had ordered him to do to so many others during his enslavement.

It only took a few seconds for the rest of Amarantha to dissolve and blow away on the wind.

There was a moment of terrible silence that still echoed with Amarantha’s shrieks of agony, as though the wind upon the mountain were playing it back to us. But then Amren roared and proclaimed our victory to be heard across all of Prythian.

The Everlasting Flower had been ended at last.

Prythian was free.


	74. Chapter 74

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR**

I closed my eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath. Then I released it.

She was gone.

Amarantha was gone.

The cool mountain breeze skated across my cheeks, followed by a warm caress--Rhysand’s palms cupping my face. His thumbs warmed my skin where the wind had left me chilled. Then his lips were on mine. A single, steady kiss that grounded me to the mountaintop. He kissed me a second time, but before I could kiss him back his lips moved first to my left cheek, then my right, before they pressed onto the center of my brow. His knuckle was hooked under my chin and his breath swept into my nose and into my blood. “I love you, Feyre,” he said. “It’s over. She’s gone.”

I reached out and took his hands in mine, and then I looked up into his eyes. “I love you, Rhys,” I said. My heart was tight with anticipation--it did not yet believe she was truly ended.

 _The others are waiting for you inside_ , Amren said, and Rhys and I both heard it. I nodded, and the two of us walked slowly back up the stairs into the throne room.

Applause sounded in my ears and I almost cringed away. I wanted nothing more than to go hide in my room and sleep for approximately eighty years. But I found Rhys’s pulse with the pad of my pointer finger, and I drew my shoulders back as I faced the crowd.

I was almost tackled by a golden-haired figure. “Feyre!” Elain cried, her arms wrapping around me tightly. A third figure joined us, and I realized with no small amount of confused delight that Nesta was embracing us, too. All three sisters--embracing at last. Cassian greeted Rhys and waved at Amren through the door. She snorted and little darts of pink fire shot from her nose.

My sisters released me, and one by one those assembled came up to greet us. Rhys exchanged mostly polite nods with our friends, while some, like Aracely, embraced me warmly. I almost staggered backward when another blond figure approached--one I had not noticed in the assembly earlier, though I wondered how I could have missed him.

Tamlin.

He nodded to me in deference, and I marked the difference in him. He seemed smaller, far less important now than he’d ever been when I’d known him. Even when I had first come over the wall and Amarantha had taken most of his power, he had been a force to be reckoned with. Now he was simply High Fae--no golden light or warrior’s demeanor. I blinked at the sudden realization that, a year ago, I had been dancing for him in the Spring Court.

Now I was his queen, and he was High Lord no more.

“Your Majesty,” he said, and my heart sputtered--this was the first time he had ever acknowledged me by any title. “I am at your service. Up to and including any penance you deem appropriate for my crimes, for which I am deeply sorry.”

The pulse in my temple quickened and my mouth dried. Yes. Tamlin--he had done such terrible things. He had hurt my sisters. Hurt me. I wasn’t sure what had brought him here . . . likely the same compulsion that had brought Lucien’s mother and one remaining brother. “That is a conversation for another day,” I said tightly, though I tried to keep my eyes soft. I did not hate Tamlin. I pitied him. But I also did not have the energy to deal with him anymore. Perhaps I would let Elain decide what to do with him, just as Nesta had decided with Hybern.

I crossed the room with Rhys again, and I could feel through his bond that he was feeling the same way I was . . . done. Tired. But he would press on because he was a king and he had been bearing a mantle of leadership for centuries as High Lord. He would press on and get through this day, and I would do the same. I did not doubt that when all was said and done, we would be spending a great deal of time alone together, in hard-earned peace and quiet.

We stood on the dais and turned to face everyone again, and we were not surprised when the slender Fomorian who had thus far been the spokesperson for their people approached the dais. “Congratulations on your victory, Your Majesties,” they said, bowing their head, fingers laced in their usual fashion. Rhys nodded in return, saying nothing. “I hate to bring this to your minds so swiftly, but my people have waited millennia for the day . . . the day we might return home.”

“Of course,” I said. “We made promises, and we intend to keep them.” I searched for my sisters in the crowd, and they approached when I caught their eyes. Elain brought out her Sword and I saw that Cassian was now holding the Spear--it was still in his hands, its thirst quenched. Nesta handed me the Book of Breathings, and I stepped forward with Rhys to accept it. Behind us, the thrones upon which we had yet to sit vanished, revealing a high, smooth wall behind them. From certain angles . . . the wall seemed to shimmer, as though it was not entirely there.

Nesta held her hands before her and summoned the Cauldron, and the unity of all these magical artifacts in one place sent a pulse of magic through the hall that everyone felt. Various colored lights emitted from each one, weaving together in a tapestry of enchantments that I knew in my bones had not been seen in millennia. The lights focus on Elain’s Sword, and when she held it before her, the web expanded and netted itself across the wall.

Under the influence of the magic, the wall vanished, leaving . . . a door. An open archway leading to what looked like a bridge extending into the distance. I could not see what was beyond it.

There was a shrill sound beside me--something like a sound a bird would make. I looked to see that the slender Fomorian’s fingers had unlaced and that they had pressed one hand to their thin mouth.

“Is that what you’re looking for?” I asked.

The Fomorian nodded, speechless.

“It’s not what I expected,” I admitted. “All of the stories . . . they talk about a dark and formless world.”

The Fomorian smiled softly. “Stories can often be unreliable.”

“I hope it is how you remember it.”

“This is a permanent decision,” Rhys said, and I nodded in agreement. “After this, we shall undertake efforts to ensure that these artifacts are never together again. We cannot reopen this door again.”

“This is expected, understood, and wise,” the Fomorian said. “My people will leave, and our worlds shall be separate as they once were, before living memory.”

“Your mark shall remain here,” I said. “Your people built Prythian in many ways. That shall not be forgotten.”

The Fomorian smiled again. “Do not make promises that you cannot keep, young queen.” I furrowed my brow, but I nodded when I understood. “Farewell. Many of us were fond of Prythian. We hope it thrives in our absence.” The Fomorian brushes their white hair out of their face and revealed their eyes for the first time--glowing white lights that struck me in my very core. “I am quite confident that it is in good hands.”

With that, the Fomorian’s veil of hair fell once more, and they stepped across the threshold onto the bridge of light--and vanished.

There was a great roar of wind as the black cloud containing all of the Fomorians swept up from outside and plunged through the archway, disappearing the moment it crossed the threshold. I blinked away from the pulse of bright magic that followed. I turned my face away, and I gasped with surprise when I saw that Amren had made it inside the hall--likely through the open ceiling. She was coiled on the steps before us, her silver eyes looking us over before sliding to look at the doorway that led to her home--to her family.

I was suddenly crying.

“Amren,” I said. “Are you going?”

A soft, warm growl sounded in her throat. _I don’t belong in this world anymore, Feyre._

“You will always belong,” I said, my voice more upset than I had hoped it would be. “You’re one of us.” I had known this was coming, and I had told myself to expect it--but that did not make this any easier. Rhys sensed my distress and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder.

 _I was never one of you_ , Amren said, _not really. But you must know that I am thankful that, for the past few centuries at least, I was given a home. A family. Tiny as you all might be._ Her silver eyes glanced at Cassian, who turned red at the memory of referring to Amren as tiny. Amren looked back at us. _There are no other firedrakes in all this world. They were killed long ago. But there . . . I have hope that I may find more of my kind._

“You deserve that,” I said, though my throat was tight. “For all that you have done for Rhys, and for me, and Prythian . . . you deserve that.”

 _Just promise me you’ll keep this one from killing himself with stupidity_ , Amren said, lifting her nose toward Rhys. He let out a shaky laugh.

“Of course,” I said.

Amren made to crawl up the steps to the doorway, but Rhys stopped her. “Amren,” he said.

She swung her massive head to look at him. Then he approached her and laid his palm on her snout, touching his brow there as well. A sign of tremendous respect. “I will miss you, old friend,” he said.

Amren growled and when Rhys stepped away, little tongues of black fire sprang from her nose. _I will miss you, too, Rhysand._ With that, she turned and prowled through the glowing archway, and I watched as every magnificent inch of her slipped through the veil and vanished at last. She was home.

“It’s time to close the gate,” I said to my sisters.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

My head swiveled to see Saraquel lingering beside the Stone of Danann, another carved bone in his hands. “I’m sorry . . . did you decide you wanted to return as well?”

“Not yet,” Saraquel said. He stepped closer to eyes and everyone watched him with wide eyes. I knew they were all seeing whatever version of him he pleased, though Rhys and I saw his true visage.

“Your opportunity is drawing to an end,” Rhys warned him. “Once this door closes, we will not open it again.”

“A wise decision,” Saraquel agreed. “But your opportunity is drawing to an end as well. For if you do not call upon my brother now, you will never again get the opportunity.”

I gasped and went very still. _Azriel and Mor_. How could I have forgotten? “What do we need to do?” I asked urgently.

“Drop this into the Cauldron,” Saraquel said, opening his palm to reveal a small lock braided hair. Hair of two colors woven together--sunlit gold and night-tinged black.

“Where did you get that?” Rhys demanded viciously.

“Relax, Your Majesty,” Saraquel said. “It was a gift from your scaly friend. She suspected you might make good use of it.”

I snatched the hair from his palm and tried to staunch the flow of grief that washed over me. If this didn’t work . . .

“You’ll also need this,” Saraquel said, and he took the sharp edge of his carving knife and sliced his own palm open, dropping his blood into the waters of the Cauldron. “If my thinking is right, Azrael will respond to that.”

A broken cry ripped from Cassian at the name, but I could not meet his eyes. I only stared at the Cauldron as I approached and dropped the lock of braided hair in after Saraquel’s blood.

The waters of the Cauldron began to glow, and they licked over the edge to tangle in the web of enchantments that still filled the room. I gripped both of Rhys’s hand in mine tightly and pressed closed to him as I watched the archway before us, hardly breathing.

Nothing happened for a long, terrible moment.

It hadn’t worked. We’d failed.

We would never see Mor and Azriel again. Tears slipped down my face and I pressed my forehead into Rhys’s shoulder. He released one of my hands to stroke my hair, but through the bond I could feel his anguish as potently as mine.

Then I heard the crowd gasp.

I raised my head and my eyes went wide as I saw a figure step up to the archway just on the other side of the threshold. I could see him, though he had not yet stepped through.

The figure looked like Saraquel, but he was much larger, and the fan upon his head was dotted with black pearl eyes like his brother’s. He also had massive wings, and in them it seemed there were even more eyes. Fear rooted me to the spot--this was a being that was too terrible to exist, too powerful for this world. And I found myself hoping he would not step across the threshold.

“So you did find a clever hiding spot, Azrael,” Saraquel said, his face breaking into an eager grin. “It is good to see you again, brother.”

“Saraquel,” Azrael said in greeting. “I see you haven’t gotten bored enough to destroy the world.”

“It was tempting at times,” Saraquel admitted, but his eyes flashed. “Thankfully some individuals came along that made me want to see how it all played out.”

“Yes, I have been told about them,” Azrael said. “Such interesting stories has my namesake shared with me.”

My stomach lurched as Azrael lifted his massive wings, and from behind them emerged Azriel and Mor. They stepped around either side of the massive brother and joined hands before him. Tears streamed down my face, but my voice was strangled in my throat.

“My friendship with their ancestors was meant to be a secret,” Azrael continued. He looked down at Az and Mor with something resembling fondness. “I did not think that I would have to let them go.”

“Mor,” Rhys rasped, and I saw tears in his eyes, too. “Azriel. Do you . . . do you want to come back? We won’t make you, we’ll understand--”

“Hush, cousin,” Mor said, her smile blinding even from beyond the threshold. “Do you think we’d leave you to clean up Prythian all by yourself? You know I’m the real diplomat among us.”

Despite the tears on my face, I laughed. It was _Mor_ \--she was the same, it was _her_ . . .

“I promised my old friends that I would protect the ones determined worthy,” Azrael said in his mountainous voice. “I have done so. And I write the Book of the Living and the Dead. If I choose, I can erase their names from my ledger and allow them to return.”

“Thank you,” Az said, squeezing Mor’s hand and looking at her with such plain adoration on his face that I knew he had finally let his walls crumble. “We would like to go home.”

Saraquel’s brother nodded, and from thin air he conjured a massive book that looked like the brother to the Book of Breathings. And it occurred to me . . . perhaps Azrael was the one who had written it.

Azrael made some marks in his book, and then it vanished again. Then, he laid a hand on Mor’s and Azriel’s shoulders and gently nudged them across the threshold. They let out a little cry at the shock, but there they were . . . among us.

And alive.

I could not hold myself back for a moment. I threw myself on Mor and she laughed, wrapping her powerful arms around me. “I missed you, too, Feyre,” she said. She released me and I immediately embraced Azriel, too. I was actually a little surprised when he hugged me back warmly, but my heart swelled. Rhys approached and embraced them both as well, but he was was jostled when Cassian barrelled up the steps and crushed us all in his arms until we were a messy cluster of teary faces and wings and smiles and arms and legs.

“Thank you,” I said to Azrael when we had all broken apart.

“It is an honor to fulfill my oath to my friends,” Azrael said. “I imagine I shall be seeing you all again very soon.”

I blinked, momentarily confused. “I suppose time is different to you,” I suggested.

“Yes,” Azrael said. “But I will be writing your names in my book faster than I ever used to before, thanks to the new magic unleashed into this world.”

I went very still. “What new magic?”

“The Mortal Curse,” Azrael said, as though it were obvious. “Without a host, it is seeping into the very earth. Immortality in Prythian is quickly becoming a memory.”

“Say that again,” Rhys said slowly, his voice hard as steel.

Azrael gave a small sigh and a shake of his head, but at last, he said words that I never expected to hear in Prythian.

“I thought you were aware. Everyone in this room is now mortal.”


	75. Chapter 75

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE**

I staggered as suddenly the world turned upside down around me. “What?” I asked in a whisper. The entire hall had gone quiet, and only the thrum of the magic keeping the door open remained.

Azrael’s eyes narrowed. “You have released the Mortal Curse into Prythian, and as we speak the immortality that the fae has always known is slipping away.”

“How is that possible?” Rhys demanded angrily. “We killed Amarantha--the Mortal Curse died with her!”

Azrael shook his head. “You seem to underestimate the magnitude of the crime Angus committed in killing his father. This was a crime against the fae and the Fomorians alike, and the intent was to punish Prythian as a consequence. It was not a curse to be undone or conquered, but passed on until the Summer Solstice after the twentieth anniversary of the arrival of the fae gifts. At that time, the Mortal Curse would take effect regardless of who currently bore it--and if there was no host, it would affect all of Prythian as it was always intended to.”

“But why?” I gasped. “Why punish all of Prythian for the crime of one man?”

“Because,” Azrael said, “that crime represented the worst of what Prythian had become--the price of immortality.”

“What do you mean?” Rhys asked

“Surely you’ve seen it,” Azrael said. “Those who live for centuries or millennia and face no consequence soon forget the cost of death. They forget the best things in this world. Compassion. Love. Respect for life. Angus was one example of this . . . but I am quite sure that everyone in this room has known at least one such person whose immortality has corrupted their morals and ethics . . . and rid them of mercy.”

I glanced at Mor, and her face was hard. She had been the victim of such people, who had forgotten the meaning of family and decency and love. Lucien shifted in my periphery, and I remembered all that he had suffered at the hands of his father, who had done the same. Amarantha was certainly another example, and the more I thought of names the longer the list became . . . and I realized Azrael was right.

“So the solution is to rid the fae of something that has been a part of them for eternity?” I asked. “Even those who have not lost that sense? There are so many in this room who have done no wrong and who have not let their long lives dull them to their sense of love and compassion! Why punish them when they are not guilty of the crimes you speak?” My voice rose with each word until the sound of it echoed through the hall.

“I did not place the curse, young queen,” Azrael said. “Do not speak to me as though I did. I am simply relaying the facts and the knowledge that I have.”

“But you have the power to say who lives and who dies,” I argued. “Your brother is the Shaper of Fates. Is there nothing you can do to stop this?” I paused and my hand flew to my chest. I felt my heart shuddering against my chest. “Is there nothing I can do?”

Rhys’s head snapped to look at me. “Feyre,” he said, his fear and confusion layered into the way he pronounced the two syllables of my name.

“Please,” I continued. “If there is anything I can do to stop this--to save my friends and family from an unjust punishment . . . I will do it.”

Azrael shifted in surprise and looked at Saraquel, who only smiled widely. “You would make such a sacrifice?” Azrael asked.

“It is the least of what I have sacrificed for these people,” I said fiercely. Angry tears pricked my eyes. Why couldn’t this be over? Why must there be yet another challenge, yet another sacrifice? I did not care. I would pay it. At this point, I had given so much that I might as well give it all one last time . . .

 _Feyre_ , Rhys said through my mind. _Do not destroy yourself for this. The fae can find a way to survive--_

 _I will not allow such an injustice to plague our people_ , I said back. _We do not deserve this--not after all we have been through._

“Name the price,” I said out loud, rising to my full height and staring down Azrael. “I will do what it takes to protect my people . . . to protect Prythian.”

Azrael’s wings spread a little wider. “There is only one solution I know, and even that will not rid the realm of the Mortal Curse entirely. But it will prevent the whole of the fae from being impacted.”

“Tell me,” I demanded through gritted teeth. My gold talons extended at my hands and I curled them into fists.

“The sacrifice falls not only upon your shoulders,” Azrael said, “so you best hope that the friendships you have made will compel your allies to aid you.”

I glanced at the assembled crowd and saw various looks of shock, anger, and determination on their faces.

“The only way to spare all the residents of Prythian from permanent mortality is if those who rule over them take it upon themselves--conditionally.”

“What kind of condition?” Rhys asked, lifting his chin and pursing his lips.

“A way to remedy just the problem that caused the Mortal Curse to be laid in the first place,” Azrael said. “All those who rule--all the High Fae--have a limit placed on their immortality. They will live on forever, as they always have, but if they forget these principles and forget to balance life, they will begin to age, and their immortality will slip away. In this way, none with the power to harm or oppress those below them will be able to do so indefinitely. But this must be accepted by all those who will lead and rule in Prythian.”

“Is it as permanent as the Mortal Curse?” Kallias asked. “Will our children suffer from this as well?”

“Do not think of it as suffering,” Azrael suggested. “Think of it as a motivation to live a long, just, and compassionate life.”

“But who is to judge when someone has violated these principles?” I asked. “Are they not subjective? What if one must do cruel things to protect their people, as a consequence of ruling? Will they be punished for such actions with time shaved from their lives?” I looked at Rhys and my eyes were glassy as I looked into the star-flecked violet of his gaze. I thought of all the things he had been forced to do, all for the sake of those he loved. If he had been punished with mortality for each of the acts that he had been forced to perform . . . I may never have been able to meet him.

“This is an ancient magic, one that comes from the one who forged the Cauldron, as deep and powerful as the Mother Herself. These challenges and circumstances are known. I can make no promises for how the magic will behave if you take on this burden, but it will ensure that none like Amarantha or Hybern ever rise from among the High Fae again.”

I sucked in a painful breath. I looked at my friends and family on the dais with me, and my eyes locked on Mor’s deep brown eyes. She stepped toward me and took Rhys’s hand and mine in each of hers. “I would accept the sacrifice with you,” she said. “I have lived among those who do not value family or morality . . . and been their victim. If it meant that our descendants would never have to suffer in such a way . . . it would be a worthy sacrifice.”

I turned to face the people assembled before me. Elain stepped up beside me, Sword in hand and Lucien at her side. “I have been mortal before,” she said. “It would be a small but worthy sacrifice for me, if it ensured that slavery and oppression would never return to Prythian.”

“And I,” Lucien said, lacing his fingers through Elain’s and kissing the back of her hand, “have seen the effect of this lack of love and mercy in my own court and my own family. I, too, would take on this sacrifice if it meant saving my court from such darkness in the future.”

“I would do it,” Aracely piped up. Tarquin stared after her, open-mouthed, as she jogged up the dais toward me.

“Aracely!” Lord Helion gasped.

The princess ignored her grandfather. “I know I am not a High Lady, but I may be some day. I am young, but I have already lost much to cruelty and abandon. I wish to see more of the world yet, and if the cost is simply living a just life, I would wholeheartedly accept that price.” She looked back at her grandfather. “Would you, Papa?”

Lord Helion sucked in a deep breath and looked at the assembly with wide, fearful eyes. But at his granddaughter’s pleading look, he nodded. With a great sigh, he said, “I am old. What is mortality to me, now? And I do not intend to cause great harm to anyone, so what do I have to fear?”

After that, the most incredible thing happened. Voice after voice lifted from among the gathered, one person after another straightening and proclaiming that yes, yes, they would take on this sacrifice if it meant no more Amarantha, if it meant peace and sanctity and goodness. Even if there was a risk--even if there would be consequences. It would be worth it, voice after voice said, if it meant freedom.”

Silent tears streamed down my face. Saraquel’s smile was so wide it was almost blinding. At long last, quiet fell over the hall again and I turned to Rhys. He took both of my hands in his and locked eyes with me, and I saw the awe and wonder swirling in them--the look told me that he would walk off the end of the earth if it was what I wanted. “I accept this sacrifice as well,” he said, looking at me as he spoke and not at Azrael. “I have sacrificed much, and while such a price is not easy, given my history, I will face it and bear it proudly if it means protecting those I love. If it means being the best I can be for my realm and my mate.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from crying, and when I found words to speak, “As my mate does, so will I. We are alike and equal, together in everything. His burdens are mine, and mine are his. And so I accept this sacrifice for him and for our people. Until the Mother calls us home.”

“As the Fae Oath speaks it, so it shall be,” Azrael said, and from where he stood on the other side of the threshold, a wind made of magic gusted forth, brushing over all of us and changing the fate of Prythian forever.

“It is time now for the door to close,” Azrael said when the wind had calmed. “If you are wise, you shall not open it again, for none can promise that you will find friendship on the other side in the future. Our worlds are best kept separate now. Saraquel?” Azrael looked at his brother. “Will you come home?”

Saraquel looked at us with something like sadness in his eyes. “I have had quite the fun carving the fates of those in this world,” he said wistfully, “but I suppose with the new way of things, it shall be less fun to play with . . . not when my games might kill you.” His black pearl eyes glinted. “It may be time to turn my attention on home once more.”

“We would be pleased to have you back,” Azrael said, and I thought I heard something like exasperation laced beneath his words. “Welcome home, brother.”

Saraquel approached Rhys and me and bowed his fanlike head. “I wish you a blessed reign, Your Majesties. Prythian is indeed in good hands.”

“Thank you, Saraquel,” I breathed, breaking my eyes away from Rhys to look at the Bone Carver. “I hope you find home as stimulating as Prythian.”

“I have no doubt I will. Farewell.” Saraquel lifted the hem of his robes and leapt up the last few steps to the glowing archway. He met eyes with his brother and nodded before stepping through and vanishing to whatever realm laid on the other side.

Azrael looked at our Azriel and Mor, who stood arm-in-arm nearby. “It was an honor to fulfill my pledge to my old friends,” he said, “and I am honored that it was to you that I was able to bless. Remember me as you go forward in your lives. Remember this friendship.”

“We will,” Mor said with a genuine smile.

“Farewell, citizens of Prythian. I pray you use your new future to forge a new path--and build a better world for the generations to come.”

Then, Azrael stepped back from the doorway and vanished. The light holding the door open went dim and trickled back into the Sword. The magical connection binding the Sword to the Cauldron and the Stone and the Spear blinked out, and the world seemed to fade to normalcy once more. The wall sealed shut and our thrones reappeared. The others on the dais descended into the crowd.

Rhys and I turned to face everyone. The tears on my face had dried into sticky trails, but I could not help but smile as I looked out over my friends, family, and allies--all those who had joined by our side to rid Prythian of these ancient stains.

“Lords, Ladies, and Fae of Prythian,” Rhys said, and the majesty in his voice stirred in my blood. “We have together begun down a new path for the future of Prythian. There is much to be done, and much to be arranged. But I have faith that together, with the love of our homeland in our hearts, we can forge a new and better world for our children and our descendants, and make Prythian a land worthy to be called their home.”

“Will you join us?” I asked. “Will you continue with us down this road? Will you stand by our side as we step toward the unknown and begin a new world?”

“We will,” said the members of the assembly in chorus. Their solemnity filled my heart with awe and humility, and it was a struggle not to being crying again.

Then, from the crowd, Mor proclaimed, “Long live King Rhysand! Long live Queen Feyre!”

Then, dozens of voices rose together and the cry filled the hall. “Long live King Rhysand! Long live Queen Feyre!”

And I joined hands with my mate and turned to face him. “King Rhysand,”   
I said with a smile.

“Queen Feyre,” he replied, raising his hand to cup my cheek. Our bond glowed, strong and bright, enough to fill the room and the world with its light and glory. “I love you, my queen,” Rhys said. He leaned down and kissed me before the whole crowd, proclaiming without the slightest shred of doubt that he and I were one--now and forever.

With our kiss, we sealed the fate of Prythian.

With our kiss, we forged eternity.


	76. Epilogue

_Nine months later . . ._   
****

 

The setting sun glimmered on the surface of the Sidra, creating a ribbon of silver in a world of pinks and golds.

Velaris. My home. The city of my heart.

“Feyre! Get down from there, for goodness sake!” Elain called from the balcony below. “We’re running out of time!”

I sighed and lingered for a moment more and spreading my wings to break my descent from an outcropping of rock on the mountainside onto one of the balconies of the House of Wind. I made them vanish as I came nose-to-nose with an impatient Elain. Her cheeks were tinged slightly pink with frustration, but her eyes glowed in her excitement. She took me by the wrist and ushered me to my bedroom inside, where she and Mor were waiting with Nesta.

“Perching on cliffs . . . that’s not exactly queenly behavior, is it?” Nesta said, arms crossed. Her mouth was twisted up in a wry smile, though, and her eyes were bright with amusement. She and Cassian spent an awful lot of time on cliff faces these days while wrangling the Illyrian war bands, so her tease was tongue-in-cheek.

I shrugged. “It’s my mountain, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Nesta said with a laugh. “Now get over here before Elain has to tie you down with vines.”

“I will, too,” Elain said from the bureau where she was removing the first piece of my ensemble for the evening. She tossed the underthings to me and I couldn’t help but blush. There had been a time when Elain would have been horrified by the sight of underthings . . . but she had very much come into her own in the past year. She was still scandalized when the boys had raunchy conversations in her general vicinity, but she had been the one to help me decide exactly which set of these I should wear tonight.

My last birthday present from Rhys had been a trip to that little shop across the Sidra, the one we’d been talking about visiting together for months. And he had indeed reserved the shop for just us, and he had let me know _exactly_ which sets he had liked best--with some, he’d even demonstrated exactly how he would take them off.

There had been one set he had liked in particular, but I had pretended not to be keen, making excuses about too many straps in all the wrong places.

I had waited until the next day to go back and buy it without his knowledge.

Once my sisters had helped me put it on, they gave me a robe and ushered me to the vanity, where Mor went to work on my makeup while Elain did my hair. Nesta mostly watched and offered commentary of varying flavors. Her role in the evening was moral support--she and I were alike in our weariness for excessive decoration, and Nesta helped rein in Elain and Mor as they set to work on me.

Of course, tonight was a special occasion and I did not plan to put up any fuss about what they wanted to do to me. The two of them in particular had spent months planning this night--this particular Starfall was going to be one to remember for millennia, they claimed.

In truth, it was a night we all needed. The past several months had been peaceful but stressful, as Rhys and I had navigated our new roles as High King and High Queen and entered into intense negotiations concerning the future of Prythian.

It had become clear to everyone very quickly that the old court system was no longer functioning. Too many lines had been blurred, and the alliances formed across borders had made it hard to distinguish just where everyone stood. And there had not been a High King and High Queen in millennia. The courts had not existed the last time any had ruled.

It had taken months and months of planning and talking and negotiating, but we had finally worked out a system that appeased everyone, at least for now. There would still be issues to sort through, and those would arise in time, but now we were confident that at least we had put some things in order.

Rhys and I performed all our royal duties from the top of the sacred mountain, which had been cleansed of its bloody past in the wake of Amarantha’s death. Cassian and Azriel had led explorations through the forested range around it, and they had been surprised to find that many of the nastiest creatures seemed to have left Prythian along with the Fomorians. The Weaver’s cottage stood empty, and the few old and vile things that remained kept to themselves as they always had. It made sense to all that this previously unclaimed territory be made into a new court--The Court of the Stone. Its seat was our palace upon the mountain, and Rhys and I were its regents. It was a symbolic court more or less--few fae had any interest in moving to the land around us when it had been so recently inhabited by such fierce creatures. But maybe in coming centuries it would be inhabited again. Even Rhys and I reserved the palace for political purposes only--more often than not we could be found in our townhome in Velaris or in our cabin in the mountains.

Other courts had been arranged in a similar fashion, each responsible for one of the ancient artifacts in the hopes that, if they were kept separate, they would never cause such destruction again. Elain and Lucien blended the Spring and the Autumn Courts, keeping the same territory but breaking down the border between them. Thus was formed the Court of the Sword, and Elain had waxed poetic for quite some time about merging a court of life and a court of death, creating something new and beautiful in their wake.

Tarquin had been given the Book of Breathings back. He had been placed as regent of the Court of the Book alongside Princess Aracely--with Lord Helion’s permission and aid, the Day and Summer Courts were formed into one, with the intention that when Lord Helion died or passed on his power to Aracely, the merging would be complete. Helion himself suggested that this would happen sooner rather than later, as he rather missed tending to his libraries. The Court of the Book was the only one with a split territory, and we anticipated that this might cause problems down the line. But for now, it was functioning, and that was what mattered.

The Winter and Dawn Courts had also negotiated an alliance, and Rhys and I had ceded some land of our new court at the coastlines to connect Winter and Dawn, forming the Court of the Cauldron. Nesta had been more than happy to relinquish the Cauldron to its former hiding place in Winter Court territory, but an understanding had been reached that, should she ever need it, she would be able to access it where it was hidden. I did not want to know the details of this arrangement, as I believed it best that neither Rhys nor I knew where the Cauldron was hidden exactly--it was too powerful, and we did not want to risk being tempted by its power, especially since our immortality was now conditional.

This conditional immortality had had the largest impact on the new Court of the Spear--formerly the Night Court. We had placed Azriel and Mor as regents in our stead, though we still called it home and it retained all of its former characteristics. Yet, it was transforming quickly. The conditional immortality had immediately begun to affect the High Fae of the Court of Nightmares, and there had been quite the panic when they’d all realized that they had begun to age. When their new state of being had been explained, many undertook great efforts to amend their behavior and remain immortal. Some, however, resisted. Soon the greatest stains on the Night Court would die out, and the horrible reputation would fade like a dying star.

Hybern was currently under our jurisdiction, though we had not yet decided what its ultimate fate would be. Slow justice was being wrought against those who had supported the evil king, but its final destiny had not yet been determined.

The Wall still stood, though Elain spoke almost every day about wanting to take it down once Prythian had stabilized. I knew that if anyone was capable of restoring good faith between the fae and the humans, it was Elain. I hoped she would succeed one day.

Elain finished pinning my hair into a woven mound upon my head, with locks twisted back on the sides to pile into a deliberate, intricate basket at the back of my head. She had allowed soft curls to fall down and frame my face, and the crown of light that was always present now--though I tried to glamour it away most of the time when I wasn’t actually ruling--hovered above my head like a halo. Elain had slipped in silver star-shaped pins glittering with diamonds along the sides of the style. Despite the size of the structure she had built upon my head, it felt oddly secure and not heavy at all.

Mor had taken care of my face, but she had claimed that there was little work to be done. She had painted silver glitter over my eyelids in a single sweep along with a line of black at the edge of my eyelids. She’d added color to my cheekbones and had chosen a wine-colored stain for my lips. She had also been the one to choose the massive silver earrings shaped like falling stars that hung from my ears.

“It’s odd being the canvas instead of the painter,” I remarked as Mor leaned back to assess her work.

“How the tables do turn,” Mor said with a smile. She had already done all of her own cosmetics and hair, of course, and she looked like the queen she was with bright red lips, smokey eyes, and a braided crown of golden hair upon her head. Her gown of black clung close to her body and had long, transparent black sleeves with sequins darted throughout--not to mention the long slash up the side of the skirt. I knew Azriel would have to work hard to keep from staring at her all night long--even if they were known partners now.

Nesta was a compliment to Mor--her hair was in a sleek but elegant twist and she wore only simple pearls on her ears. Her dress was simple but bold for Nesta, with a plunging neckline on a silk bodice the color of berries. The skirt was slim and plainly cut in a soft purple. Elain was her opposite in style, of course--her golden hair spilled down her back in joyous curls and white flowers were woven throughout. Her gown was a pink-gold in floating gauze, a distinct contrast to the sleek and tailored looks of the others. Large and sparkling floral embellishments covered the bodice, but on Elain it managed not to be garish, but lovely.

My dress, however, would be the star of the night, as all three of them had insisted.

It only made sense. It was my wedding night after all.

Though Rhys had assured me that we did not have to have a wedding if I didn’t want one, the chaos of the war had made me feel that it would be good to have something to celebrate. We’d been mated for nearly a year by now, and the negotiations had forced us to put off an actual ceremony until now. Elain and Mor hadn’t minded--it had given them plenty of time to plan, and I had let them take care of _everything_. I had no mind for such things and I had happy to let someone else have control for a change. I suspected Rhys had been involved in his way, perfectionist that he was. I’d heard a rumor that Mor had chucked him off the balcony at least once during the decorating. Other than that, I had stubbornly avoided hearing anything about anything except for the parts of the ceremony that directly involved me.

I had also been given final say on the dress, but I hadn’t had a single argument.

I was getting married in black, which had seemed the most natural thing in the world. The dress was form-fitting from the shoulders to the ankles, with ruching up and down the skirt. However, there were additional wide panels of satin added to the skirt that spread wide on either side and trailed behind me. The black fabric was covered in embroidery and embellishment that looked like galaxies were sewn into the dress. The neckline plunged down to my waist in the front and in the back . . . which would be necessary later. I was a Queen of Night, and I saw no better way to celebrate my wedding to the King of Night than in a dress made of galaxies.

By the time they had finished with me, the sun had already set, and the spirits would be coming soon. They escorted me downstairs to the staircase at the east wing of the House of Wind. A set of doors was all that separated me from the wedding ceremony, and my mate.

I was suddenly terrified.

The last time I had tried to get married, it had not gone so well. Things were so different this time and I was euphoric, but . . . I could not shake the sense of dread that hollowed my stomach regardless.

Uxía, now co-regent of the Court of the Cauldron, laid a hand on my shoulder. “You will be all right, Your Majesty,” she said with a warm smile. She looked resplendent in a gown of ivory and gold, her brown curls almost swallowing the small crown upon her head. She was here with all of the other royal ladies of Prythian--Aracely, in silk of gold and royal blue; Uxía’s daughters in varying shades of pastels; Lady Hermia, Lucien’s mother, in burnt orange; and of course, Mor and my sisters.

A great strum of music rose from the hall on the other side of the doors, and my stomach swooped in response. I felt my feet turn to stone and my breath quickened with my heart.

But then, on the bond deep inside me, I felt a gentle, loving stroke. My mate, with me at every moment. I sent a pulse back and close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath as the door opened and my ensemble descended the steps before me. Through the doors I could see the lords of Prythian descending the stairs on the other side, dressed in their symbolic colors as well. I waited and listened until the music faded, and the same High Priestess who had sworn me in as High Lady announced our entrance, and the doors before me swung open.

I took several steps down the stairs, focusing on the floor because my knees were weak and I did not trust myself not to fall down the stairs. But once I had gotten my stride, I dared to look up and see my mate descending the flight of stairs across from me.

And I froze.

Rhys did the same as his eyes fell on me and his face went slack with awe. And even from across the hall I thought I saw tears spring up in his eyes. He was resplendent in deepest black, and the fabric was enchanted to shimmer like stars when he moved. A long black cape spilled over his shoulders and down the stairs behind him as though the night sky trailed him with every movement. His crown of light glowed upon his head, proclaiming his right as High King to all assembled. But in that moment, he had eyes only for me.

I wanted to run to him. I wanted to leap down the stairs and crash into him and kiss him and embrace him, but there would be time for that later. Still, my heart beat faster when Rhys’s eyes went a fraction wider. I looked at my skin and was unsurprised to find myself glowing. I smiled then, beamed even, and Rhys met my smile with one of his own.

And I think my heart shattered with joy.

We finally remembered that we had a ceremony to complete, and we continued down the stairs toward each other. The High Priestess stood at the bottom of the two flights of stairs, an elegant podium before her with a small bowl set upon it. Rhys and I approached, our eyes locked on each other, and I could not hear a single word the High Priestess was saying. I was lost in Rhys’s eyes, lost in his breaths and the beats of his heart. The bond between us burned bright and strong, and I longed to reach out and touch him. Mother have mercy, how I wanted to _touch_ him!

My chance finally came. Rhys extended his left hand toward me, palm up, over the bowl on top of the podium. The bowl was filled with a sparkling paint that looked like the star spirits that were about to start crossing the sky over our heads. I sucked in a breath. I had known about this part of the ceremony--it had been Rhys’s idea, something he had thought of just for us. I dipped my finger in the glittering paint and painted a star on the palm of his hand. A tremble ran up his arm as the feather-light touch of my finger tickled his palm. When I had finished, I extended my left palm to him, and he painted a star on my skin, too. Then, we looked up at each other, and I was somewhat relieved to see that I was not the only one of us crying. He reached toward me and I reached toward him, and we each pressed our hands to the other’s cheek, leaving a print of glittering star-shaped dust there.

The podium between us vanished and we stepped closer to each other until our breath mingled. Behind us, our wings flared out and spread wide--they were not something for us to hide anymore. I would never remember a single word of the ceremony. I would only remember the look in Rhys’s eyes, the love that pulsed down our bond, and the beauty of him with stardust paint on his face. The only thing I heard was the Priestess finally declaring us married, and she had hardly finished the word when Rhys and I fell into a kiss so deep and so vivid that my glow spread to him and we were a beacon of love and light in the middle of the House of Wind.

Above us, the first of the traveling star spirits darted across the night sky. We broke apart and looked together toward the open balcony at the other end of the hall. The crowd parted before us and we walked arm and arm to the balcony, where we stepped up to the railing and gazed up into the sky.

Suddenly, the sky burst into streaks of brilliance. Hundreds of thousands of star spirits streamed through the night--exponentially more than there had been at the last Starfall. Rhys had said then that they had been becoming fewer and fewer every year leading up to Amarantha, and that he feared that they would stop coming altogether one day. But those fears no longer had foundation, for as the sky lit with the magnificent spirits, it was clear that whatever darkness in the land had kept them from coming was now gone.

I tore my eyes away from the sky long enough to look at my friends and family. Nesta stood in front of Cassian, his arms wrapped around her waist, his hands holding hers as they looked at the sky together. Azriel and Mor weren’t paying attention to the sky at all--instead, they lingered in the corner and kissed behind the cover of Azriel’s wings. Lucien held Elain’s hands and kissed them before kissing her brow, and Elain’s cheeks turned a beautiful pink in response. Masaru caught Lucien’s eye and nodded in congratulations before walking over and offering his arm to Princess Maristela for a dance. Cibrán and Uxía were already dancing beside Léocadia and her partner, a lovely fair-skinned High Fae girl with deep brown eyes and hair like a falcon’s wing. Lord Akihiro easily persuaded Lord Kallias to join in the music, and Aracely and Tarquin held each other close and swayed in time.

I looked back at my mate and reached up to cradle his face in both of my hands. “You’re my husband now,” I murmured, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

“And you are my wife,” he said, his voice deep and rich as velvet. He kissed my brow. “High Queen of Prythian, Regent of the Court of the Stone, Defender of the Rainbow, Cursebreaker, Fae Dreamer. You are my queen and my mate and and my wife, my equal in all things.” His eyes twinkled. “You don’t have nearly enough titles, Feyre darling. We need to come up with a few more.” His knuckle brushed the tip of my nose affectionately.

I cast my eyes down and smiled as my hands fell to rest against his chest. My eyes fell on the star sapphire on my finger and the glow on my skin flared brighter. “What about . . . Happiest Woman in All of Prythian?” I asked, looking up at him again. My body melted closer to his as I bathed in the beauty and majesty of my love for him.

Rhys’s answering smile was the most radiant thing I had ever seen in my life.

“I think _that_ ,” he said in a low voice, “is my favorite title of them all.”

He leaned in close, and beneath the thousands of cascading star spirits and among all our friends and loved ones, my husband kissed me, and the world was remade, bright and new.


End file.
